


Dawning Realization

by drowninginspace



Series: I'd rather go to Hell.  Especially since I won't be seeing you in Heaven. [2]
Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bravo Company, DADT, Domestic Fluff, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Matchmaking, Movie Nights, Pining, Road Trips, Sharing a Bed, Surprises, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-11-21 18:00:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 26,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11362692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drowninginspace/pseuds/drowninginspace
Summary: It's been half a year since Brad has seen Ray and that's fine, no, really.  It gives him some space, he's able to enjoy the peace without goat fucking hicks bothering him and he has time for those strange feelings for his RTO to settle down.  But when Ray shows up unexpectedly at his doorstep one day, they're hard to ignore.  So Brad is left with one question: Does he truly want to spend the rest of his life without Ray by his side?





	1. The Beginning (How it came to be)

It wasn’t that Brad was surprised at the events currently unfolding. He wasn’t. With all the tension growing between the men, command’s constant fuck ups and the officers own incompetence, it would have all boiled over into conflict sooner or later. But he didn’t expect Ray to be the root cause of the conflict. He’d been watching his RTO over the past few weeks and what he saw wasn’t good. Ray was an animated individual in the best of times and a straight up bothersome nag at the worst. This quality was further amplified by the constant use of Ripped Fuel and dip. Brad understood why he used it, he really did. The lives of everyone in the entire platoon depended on him and if there was one thing about Ray that everyone could agree on, he never failed at his job. But everything had it’s price, over the counter stimulants included.

So when the constant stream of endless chatter dried up as they entered Baghdad, Brad started to worry. It was one thing to talk less due to exhaustion and hunger. It was another thing to completely shut down and give the minimum response required when questioned. Brad could have left it, it wasn’t his problem what other people choose to do or say, but he couldn’t. Ray might be a whisky tango, inbred, cousin fucker most of the time but that didn’t change the fact that he was Brad’s friend. He didn’t have many of those in the past few years, but those he did bestow this title upon, they were guaranteed to become an integral part of his life. And he did anything he could to protect those people, from themselves or others.

At camp, Ray sat around staring into his hands, all his previous energy nonexistent. “Hey, where the fuck did you go? You haven't said two words since Baghdad” Brad asked, deciding that now was the time to find out what was wrong. If he didn’t act now, he never would, the urgency of the invasion overpowering Brad’s need to make sure Ray was alright.

“No more Ripped Fuel,” Ray replied with a small shrug of his shoulders.

And it was that small action, innocent enough but speaking volumes about the tension in Ray, that sealed it for Brad. He’d spent more time than he’d admit under pain of death with that buck tooth loser and Brad liked to believe he knew him pretty well by now. Ray was a force of nature, or what seemed like it, on a daily basis. It seemed he never ran out fuel, retrieving some from an endless supply when everyone around him had depleted theirs a long time ago. The fact that all he could give was a simple line and a small shrug said more for Ray’s exhaustion than screaming his problems from ontop of a mountain ever would. Brad was sure of it.

As if sensing his scrutiny, Ray rushed to seem a bit more normal. “Man, it seems no matter where we go as Marines, it's always some fucking shit-hole.” 

As his team leader, Brad could remove him from the invasion for his own well being, which is perhaps what he feared. In the privacy of his own mind, Brad could admit that he’d never be able to bring himself to do that unless Ray wanted it for himself. He needed that idiot by his side, especially with command constantly fucking up. Iraq wouldn’t be the same otherwise.

While Brad was contemplating what the future held for Bravo, Poke came over and invited them to play in the football game against Alpha. Truth be told, he didn't expect Ray to accept the offer. It was a pleasant surprise to see the former Ray return, joining the game with his usual gusto. Brad even left off counting the ammo supply to go see Bravo play, wanting to let off some of the steam that no doubt everyone else felt building up too. He stood at the edge, surveying the game playing out but keeping a close eye on Ray. It was that need to keep watch that allowed Brad to see the entirety of the drama that played out soon after.

Facing off against each other, Rudy and Ray were tensed up, with Ray mouthing off in his usual way, lending a deceptively carefree attitude to the entire scene. With the ball thrown, Rudy slammed into Ray, knocking him down. He went off towards the cheering men, leaving Ray to pick himself off the ground. Without even processing what he was doing, Brad started to make his way towards Ray, in the hopes of avoiding a conflict he could sense coming up, in the same way he could sense Ray's anger from across a field. But he was too slow and too far away to prevent the mess that ensued, with Ray circling around and tackling Rudy to the ground, bringing both of them down. 

Suddenly, Rudy was a blur of fists, pounding into Ray repeatedly, making Brad's guts twist in a way that he couldn't explain, in something that was more than the bond between fellow warriors. But that he'd figure that out later. Because Rudy currently had Ray in a choke hold and wasn't showing any signs of slowing down. Considering he had the ability to kill someone with his bare hands, they had to break it up soon or run the risk of consequences that would haunt them all. As if answering his silent prayers, Manimal, Garza, and Gunny surrounded the two and pulled them apart. Rudy looked dazed, as if just coming to terms with the fact that he had been ready to beat a fellow marine to death. Ray, however, didn’t seem to be the least bit repentant. Continuing to yell at Rudy as the other guys restrained him, he was very visibly falling apart, his face a bright red and tears beginning to swell up. Brad started to make his way towards him, heard himself ask Ray if he was ok, only to be pushed away. Watching Ray storm away, he wonders if staying here is the best thing to do, if giving him time to get together won’t be seen as pity, sure to enrage him further. But as much as Brad is inexplicably drawn towards Ray at the moment, he knows that staying here is for the best. There’s a reason that Ray’s a Recon Marine and on Brad’s team. When he’s ready, he’ll come back and Brad would be there by his side, brothers through it all.

Turning back, Brad went to deal with the mess that was left behind. Rudy, still stricken, seemed to be making his way towards where Ray was headed, most likely to apologize. It probably wasn’t wise, what with everything that had just happened, but Brad felt a sudden flare of anger surge up, enraged that Rudy would even go near Ray. Try as he might, Brad couldn’t get the sight of Ray out of his mind, trapped helplessly underneath Rudy’s large body, face red and bulging from lack of oxygen. He might be superior to all of these dick sucks but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t above a little pettiness here and there. 

“Don’t,” Brad said to Rudy, blocking his path. “You’ve already done enough damage and now he needs some time to himself.”

“Brad, I know I fucked up and you have every reason to hate me right now.” Taking a deep breathe, Rudy continued, knowing what he asked for would be denied, but trying nonetheless. “But I need to go and apologize to him, I was in the wrong there. My fellow warrior has been under much stress attempting to keep us alive and he was only letting it all go, surrounded by friends. However, I was overcome and proceeded to harm my brother, despite knowing I could easily kill him.”

“If you knew you could have killed him,” Brad interrupted, “why let it happen in the first place? So much discipline over the past few years and the one time you slip up, someone who’s nowhere near your match is on the receiving end.”

“I know this Brad and and I have no excuse for it. But please,” Rudy pleaded, “let me go and apologize to him. Ray is a good friend and I hate to think I have lost a brother in arms of mine due to my own foolishness.” Here he broke off, looking distressed at the thought, as if he was seeing it happen for real in his own mind. “It’s your choice and I’d accept it, knowing that I deserve it for what I have done to him”- Rudy sighed and his shoulders dropped, looking very vulnerable- “but if the both of you show me a kindness of which I am undeserving, I can tell you it will never happen again.”

“Oh, you can be assured of that,” Brad remarked drily. He shouldn’t be this harsh, he knew that. It was an honest mistake and one Ray would forgive without even thinking. So why was he taking all of his anger and uncertainty out on Rudy? “I can’t let you visit him,” Brad warned, “he’s too unhinged right now.” 

“I understand brother. I apologize.” Head hung low in defeat, Rudy turned around and slowly trudged away, his bent form painting a sad and lonely picture.

Before he could think too much about it, Brad called out to Rudy. “That doesn’t mean that you can’t go talk to him ever again. If you happen to be near that goat fucker, I’m sure no one would think that’s strange. Marines goof off all the time,” Brad said with a shrug, “a few fists here or there isn’t much to worry about.” 

“Thank you brother, I won’t forget this.” Flashing Brad a grateful smile, turned around the corner and disappeared, his new duties awaiting him. Walking to his tent, Brad mentally made a list of all the things to be done. The world wasn’t going to halt to a stop because of a couple of dramatic marines throwing a hissy fit about losing the title of prom queen to your next door communist swine pole.

Later in the day, as the rest of the marines gathered around to watch Lilley’s video, Brad absently clean his gun and let his mind wander. Most of the day had passed and there was still no sign of Ray. Maybe he had miscalculated? He had assumed that, after all the time they had spent together, they would know each other better than anyone else. Yet, he could be wrong. His best friend and fiance had an entire affair behind his back without him noticing anything wrong, it was entirely possible he had misjudged Ray’s need for help too. He should have gone after him, made him understand he wasn’t alone, done something-

Just as Brad’s mind started to go into overdrive, Ray walked into the room, drinks in hand and his usual grin on his face. Taking in that relaxed stride and the smile that took up his entire face, Brad felt himself let go of tension he didn’t know had built up. In the span of a few seconds, a silent conversation took place - “I’m sorry” “It’s fine. I’m glad your back.” “Me too.” - and just like that, everything seemed right for a moment. This war might be fucked up but he had Ray by his side. They were Recon marines, they’d make do. 

And if Brad put the possibility that Ray might not be with Bravo during their next tour out of his mind completely, then he could be forgiven for that small mistake. The brain aids us as best as it can , and under these stressful conditions, Brad would need everything he had to make it through the supreme clusterfuck that was Operation Iraqi Freedom. No use complicating the situation by thinking about a future that might never arrive.

 

***1 YEAR LATER***

 

It was still dark out when Brad Colbert returned from his daily early morning run. It wasn’t necessary to be up at the ass crack of dawn but years of military routine and avoiding other people made it a habit of his. Opening the door with a sweaty hand and entering the house, Brad scanned through the letters he had taken from the mailbox on the way in. Bills, promotions, coupons, a late reminder from the library, a postcard. Picking the last one up, he saw that it was from Rudy, who was currently touring the country extolling the benefits of getting off your butt and doing some exercise to middle America. 

Shaking his head and letting a hint of a smile appear on his face, Brad thought about the rest of Bravo for a moment. He's kept in touch with some of them after getting back home but stuff happens, life gets busy, you forget. He'd been to Poke's daughter's dance recital last week (all those cutsie dancing flowers made him want to vomit bunnies and hearts) and he'd been discussing the sorry state of the disgrace known as football in America with Walt. Pappy had sent an email the other day and a few others had met up for beers a few months ago. The only person no one had heard from was Ray. Who had given them a crooked smile at the airport, waved, and disappeared into the swirling crowd. 

It made Brad's chest ache in a strange way, something he couldn't put his finger on. There was no way in hell that he was missing a whisky tango inbred sister fucking hick from Missouri. That was both undignified and unacceptable. The only possible explanation was that he regretted not having entertainment on a day to day basis, something that took away from the monotony of life itself. And there was no one who did that better than Josh Ray Person. It was a pity that he wouldn't be reenlisting. It was hard to imagine Iraq without that dicksuck by his side, sweet talking the radios into working and bringing the jeep to life. He wondering what fresh faced child they'd put on his team next time. Wouldn't be nearly as good as Ray though, missing or not.

Shaking his head, Brad told himself to let those thoughts go. It would do no good to start hating someone he's never even met, and thoughts of Ray would always lead to dangerous terrain.

Continuing on with his day, Brad began his weekend routine. A light breakfast followed by some reading. His current article was about Darfur, the genocide of men, women, and children in Western Sudan by the Sudanese government. Once receiving their independence from Britain, the North and South were immediately embroiled in a civil war, the South believing it wasn’t properly represented in the government in the North. The site of valuable natural resources such as minerals and oil, Darfur was previously thought useless and it’s people ignored. With this sudden wealth, the North demanded that that all revenue from its sale or use be turned over to the government. When the people of Darfur refused, the Sudanese government sent the Janjaweed, their militia, to destroy rebellion and take the land from the people. In the process, millions were displaced and hundreds of thousands died. 

Scanning the rest of the article, Brad’s gut twisted with each sentence. Human capacity for cruel and horrible actions was unlimited yet he found himself surprised each time he came across something like this. He’d been in Iraq, seen first hand how things like these occurred. He himself had done some things that he was reading about, the unmerciful killings of everyone deemed hostile. There was a small part of him that wanted to stop caring about it all. To wake up one day and not feel a twinge of guilt and helplessness when reading about these things, when turning on the news, when hearing his orders from command, just stop the flood of feelings it brought up. But that wasn’t good. Because in order for that to happen, he had to be desensitized first. These tragedies had to occur on a daily basis all around the world, on a mass scale, to ever reach that level of normalcy. And while Brad was a heartless killing machine that would follow command’s orders despite them setting off every moral alarm known to humanity, he had some soul left in him. As much as he’d like this inner turmoil shit he was going through to end, it couldn’t be at the expense of the rest of the world. He wouldn’t let innocent people burn because he didn’t want to deal with the consequences of what he had done.

Still deep in thought about life and choices and all that hippie bullshit, Brad startled when he heard knocking at his door. He wasn’t expecting anyone but that didn’t mean that Bravo, or worse, his mother, wasn’t capable of surprise ambushes. Reconciling himself to his fate, he got up, stretched, and took those last steps that signaled the end to the weekend he had imagined for himself. Opening the door, he had a few choice insults on his tongue, prepared to…

“Hey Brad”

It wasn’t that Ray had appeared on his doorstep after an entire year of silence that left Brad speechless. It was the bruises on his neck, vaguely hand shaped and visible above his shirt, fading away but not quite there yet. The fact that someone out there had dared to put a hand on Ray, hurt him to such an extent, it had Brad’s ears filled with roars and his eyes filled with the red of the soon-to-be-a-slab-of-meat idiot who-

Shifting uneasily on his feet, Ray looked, and it hurt that he had to say this, older than his 23 years on this planet. Messy hair, tired eyes, dark bags underneath, hunched shoulders. This wasn’t Ray Person, one of the finest Recon Marines Brad had served with. It was someone else completely. “I know this is all so sudden and I probably should have told you but I had nowhere else to go. If there’s a problem with me staying here I could-”

“No, no, it’s fine. Come in.” The last statement might have came out a bit harsher than Brad would have liked but it was preferred to Ray thinking he wasn’t welcome. He was obviously in trouble and didn’t exactly seem to have a lot of options but interrogating him wasn’t the way to go, especially in this state. To lighten up the mood a bit, Brad joked, “Wouldn’t want to inflict your whisky tango ass on anyone else. I’ve dealt with you for years, i’ll take one for the team.” Punctuating it with a smile to get the bantering nature across, Brad observed Ray as he let him in, searching for any signs of his old RTO. 

“ That’s why I came here first, knew you couldn’t resist my Bambi eyes, you Disney princess you,” Ray shot back, but it wasn’t the same. It didn’t seem right.

Quickly debating on what to do next, Brad decided that a bit of sleep was the first priority for Ray. He seemed to be reaching Iraq levels of exhaustion and that was nothing but bad news. “Alright, I don’t know what sort of bathtub moonshine they’ve been feeding you in backwater Missouri but you’re starting to speak gibberish. I think a few hours of sleep will help to make you understandable, as much as someone can understand you anyway. Come on, I’ll show you to my room,” he said getting up from the couch, gesturing for Ray to follow him.

Looking over his shoulder, Ray was still frozen in place, unsure what to do. He rubbed his hands over his eyes in a sign of fatigue and said, “I don’t know Brad. I think I’d rather take the couch. I’m already imposing by being in your house in the first place and taking your bed would make it that much worse. I’d be more comfortable here anyway.” 

“And you’ll be even more comfortable in a bed. I can have the guest room ready for you soon but for now, my bed will have to do. Get moving Ray, don’t make me have to give an order. You’ve traveled a bit, it’ll do you good,” Brad replied, herding Ray into his room like you would a flock of sheep.

Pulling back the blanket, he waited for Ray to slowly lay down, and then covered him. Shutting off the lights so Ray could get some much needed rest, Brad looked into the room one last time. “Go to sleep numbnuts,” he whispered into the dark, “we’ll figure everything out later.”


	2. The Middle (Things Fall Into Place)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which dark pasts are told and roommates are decided. Yipee Yay!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I hope you like this chapter and please don't hesitate to offer constructive criticism. I can be reached at my Tumblr @drowninginspace

Opening his eyes, it took a few seconds for Ray to figure out where he was. The walls were pristine, the bed relatively neat and the room free of clutter. In other words, the complete opposite of what he was used to. His memories rushing back to him, Ray closed his eyes for a few more seconds before facing his reality, which some would consider the metaphorical representation of Sixta’s voice. For the retarded out there and those who did not happen to be lean, mean, badass killing machines, that roughly translated to: his life was pretty fucked up and miserable at this point.

And he just happened to make to that much worse. Yay! Put a fucking gold star next to his name on the roster for supreme failures. It was already a big pile of shit by the time he left. Making it to Brad’s doorstep only made it 10x worse. But then again, go big or go home, right? Why stop at just a shitstorm when you can get a chaotic flaming pile of garbage that’s totally FUBAR yet his only option? Yeah, that’s more his style. He might not have had much say in what had happened but he was a marine and marines made do. Probably not the situation to which this should be applied but fuck that. He was beyond caring. He had bigger problems now than the political correctness of an analogy. Such as Brad. And explaining the clusterfuck he was currently in. Fuck his life. 

Lifting the blanket and bracing his arms on the bed, Ray pushed himself off and stood up in the dark room. The blinds were down and not much light was present in the room, something he was glad for. He didn’t need any witnesses to his misery and struggle, himself or otherwise. If he was going to fucking do this, he’d do it without proof of what a wreck he was. Gotta trick the brain and stuff, makes everything a bit easier. He wouldn’t be able to hide it from Brad though, not that he’d tried that hard. They were both Recon, it wouldn’t do him any good to prolong the hunt. Brad always won in the end and he’d get the truth out of him eventually. If those glances he kept giving Ray (you aren’t nearly as discreet as you think Bradley, you hebrew dick suck) were any sort of indication, telling a tale of epic manliness was in his near future, of which the nitty gritty details of his top secret double life were a part of. After that, it all depended on how Brad would react. Not that he was likely to give any visible reaction, mind you. 9 foot tall nordic vikings have reputations to uphold, after all.

Opening the door, Ray was hit smack in the face by a thick wall of heavenly aromas. They all smelled good, he wouldn’t deny that, but what appealed to him most was the coffee. Not Rudy’s “all natural” communist dishwater and dirt equalizer mixture, but actual, rich, flavorful coffee. It wasn’t that he hadn’t had any at all after deployment because sugar muffin, you better believe that’s the first stop he made after getting into the car from the airport. In fact, he drank 3 cups of it before he was satisfied. Ray just hadn’t had any during the two days he spent driving to Brad’s place. It might make him a pussy for thinking that was an eternity but fuck if he hadn’t put his life on the line so others could do exactly that. So dear uptight little shits, you can fuck right off because he’d earned the right to be a whiney little bitch complaining about flavor filled boiled water.

“Gotta admit Brad, didn’t have you pegged as a cooking man. And yet, you appear to be a man of many talents,” Ray remarked, making a beeline for the steaming cup on the counter. His life force first, everything else could come later.

“Well, becoming a pussy civilian will do that to even the most hardened of Recon Marines, which you were not. So it stands to reason that whisky tango hicks such as yourself would lose what little skills they had,” Brad shot back, “shaming the marines by going soft and bringing down our proud and hard earned reputation.” 

“Brad, you have it all wrong. I can’t shame the marines if I’m not actually a marine anymore,” argued Ray while in the process of stealing some carrots Brad was cutting. “Therefore, what I do has no bearing on the reputation of the Marine Corps whatsoever.” 

Sighing, Brad continued to chop the vegetables like the inner 60’s housewife we was. It might not be a loud proclamation of victory and surrender to Ray’s superior intellect but it’ll do. The thing with Brad was that you have to pick and choose your battles. No point in wasting energy on the smaller ones when the motherload of all battles would be happening soon anyway.

And it would be happening. Some time away from his Ray-Ray hadn’t made Bradley Colbert any less of an open book to him. Brad was a strategist, Recon through and through. So really, Ray wasn’t surprised that the topic hadn’t come up yet. The Iceman was a sneaky little bastard and it would casually slip into their conversation sooner or later. But that didn’t mean that he couldn’t enjoy this, milking it for all it was worth and making Brad work for his answers.

“Burgers and salad good for you? I don’t have much grocery right now and I didn’t expect you. We’ll go shopping soon though.” 

‘Yeah homes, that’s more than enough,” Ray answered absently, mind thinking about what Brad had just said. “We’ll go shopping,” as if he expected Ray to be here for quite some time. That did some nice shit to his heart, made him feel wanted and what not. He could only hope that would continue even after he’d made his confession.

\------------  
The Revelation  
\------------

“Ok,” Brad said putting the dishes in the sink, “you’ve made me suffer enough. I sat through the entirety of that meal without once mentioning your dumb ass and the trouble you’re obviously in. So time to pour out your tiny little heart and explain what the fuck is going on.”

Taking a deep breath, Ray warned, “It’s complicated homes, maybe worse than the clusterfuck that was Iraq. I’ll leave if you want me too but I need you to listen for a little while. Just… let me finish ok? I’ll answer any questions you have and then i’ll be out of your life.” 

“Not likely, you whisky tango piece of shit. You’ll stay here as long as you need or until you get better,” Brad quipped, trying to puzzle out what could possibly have made Ray so serious. “Now hurry up, I’d like to get done before my next tour starts.”

Jumping in head first, Ray started with perhaps the most vital detail to his story. “I’m gay.” With that said, he leaned back and took in Brad’s face, searching for any signs of disgust or hatred. They’d been friends for some time now and it would hurt if they never saw each other again. But the world’s a fucked up place where retards like him can’t even be in a decent relationship with their loved ones without getting endless shit for it (read:harm and death threats).

Blinking a few times, Brad tilted his head and said something that gave Ray what he would call hope, if he was ever so weak minded and pathetic enough to believe in that bullshit. “Ok.”

“What,” Ray probed, “That’s all you have to say? Your old buddy comes out of the closet to you and you can’t even congratulate him?”  
“I’m so happy you’re getting dick up the ass everyday Ray, and felt the urge to tell me about it,” Brad said earnestly. 

“So I like other dudes and have since high school. I haven’t been peeping at you guys though, I swear. Not gonna risk being kicked out of the corp for 5 seconds of Rudy’s ass, no matter how great it is,” Ray rushed to explain, needing to justify to Brad that his privacy wasn’t violated. The problem was, he shouldn’t fucking have to. But Brad was one of his closest friends and if he didn’t understand…

“Hurry up, you stupid ass canoe. I know all of this, hard not to with you acting so homoerotic around everyone all the goddamn time,” Brad said impatiently, not looking the least bit concerned. The Iceman wasn’t big on showing emotions, but this? This was the equivalent of “I’ve got your six”. Brad Colbert didn’t say “You’re my friend, always.” No, he called you a stupid ass canoe and told you to finish your tragic backstory. And Ray had never felt more at peace. But he couldn’t say that out loud, both because he refused to be a sickening panty-waisted hipster and because Brad was allergic to most forms of human emotions. The sweet hearted little fucker had probably used his entire quota for the month on Ray’s sob story.

“It would have been nice to know that before,” Ray said pointedly, “but it makes no difference.” Closing his eyes for a second, Ray continued. “My home town wasn’t the best place to find people like me but we all helped each other out. Someone set me up on a date with a friend of theirs, Matthew Campbell. I wasn’t too hopeful, you know homes? A couple past relationships had failed, this one probably wouldn’t be any different, that sort of sappy bullshit.”

It felt weird talking about this to someone. His mother knew of course, Mama Person was all knowing and all seeing. But that didn’t count because that was his fucking mom. Other than the people he’d dated, Brad is the first person (HA!) he’s telling about these parts of himself. Whether it was a good type of strange or bad type was yet to be determined. But hey, Brad hadn’t kicked him out of the house on his butt! That was always a good sign, better than what he’d hoped for anyway. Not that Ray had hoped for much. Only disappointment came out of that and Ray may be mouthy, but he wasn’t that brand of stupid. He had to minimize his chances of getting hurt, especially when his gayness left other areas exposed.

“But it worked out,” Ray stated wistfully, remembering the good days past. “He were a secret, yeah, but it was good. Entire senior year, we sneaked out to a field halfway between our towns and made out under the fucking stars. God, that was some gay shit we did. Not pride parade going Gay, mind you. There’s a limit to everything. But it was good Brad,” he directed towards his right, where Brad was making a shake. “Should have known it was too good to last, had to end at some point, and all that wonderful fairy tale crap.”

“Ahhh, I see.”

“I didn’t even finish the rest of my sob story homes,” protested Ray from his place on the sofa, “I know you’re not a life coach and you don’t stalk me, so there’s no chance in hell you have any idea where this is heading.”

“Well Ray,” Brad began, “you’re telling me about the beginning of a relationship and that never ends well, homoerotic or otherwise. So I believe it’s safe to assume either you fucked up or he did. Besides,” he glanced up from the bowl and smirked, “how would you know I wasn’t stalking you? Swift, Silent, Deadly.”

At that, Ray felt himself loose control and burst out laughing, the image of Brad spending his free time obsessing over Ray too overwhelming to contain. “Bradley my love, sometimes I think the sands of Iraq seriously messed up your head. As if you could go have a year knowing where I am and not insulting my presence at least once. That was really adorable but try to make a better cover story.” Smile growing, he wiggled his eyebrows at Brad. “You don’t need one anyway. I know you love me, you raging homo.”

“Incorrect,” replied Brad, “I believe that would be you, from your own admission. Now shut up and eat.”

“I can’t do both,” Ray protested, “ I need to actually open my mouth in order to put food in it. And when did you become a health nut? It’s the damn California air isn’t it? I’m telling you, it corrupts everyone. Makes them live healthier, act smarter. Such a pity, what’s happening these days.”

Shoving a bowl of fruit in Ray’s hands, Brad sat down across from him. His mouth twisted into a smile that did stupid things to Ray’s traitor of a heart and said, “Stop nagging like an old hag and finish your tragic love story for the ages.”

“Why Bradley, if I had known that you’d be this interested, I would have told you everything sooner.”

“Ray…”

“I decided to join the Marine Corps. Matt wasn’t happy but he supported me. I went to training, he went to the University of Missouri in Kansas City. Wanted to be a software tester, that fucking nerd.”

“And you aren’t?” Brad questioned with a raised eyebrow. That hypocrite. Ray might have been on the debate team but at least he didn’t talk like a 50 year old English professor disappointed at the lack of enthusiasm his students had for dissecting all 154 of Shakespeare’s sonnets and 37 plays, that crusty hotdog. And debate was very helpful, thank you very much. He kept up with Brad, didn’t he?

“Off topic Brad. But that isn’t the point. Matt went off to college and I entered the good old United States Marine Corps. You know the rest: BRC, 9/11, Afghanistan. But I missed home. I couldn’t say that though, all the other guys already thought I was a weak faggot. They didn’t need more ammunition to blow my life to teeny, tiny pieces. So when I got home, I could finally let loose. Be my own fucking self, enjoy life back home. I thought so anyway. “

He’d came home so sure everything would still be the same, like a pansy-ass soldier fresh out of training and not yet in a war zone. It was his mistake, in the end. His life was one clusterfuck after another, with a generous heaping of bullshit every now and then. He just hadn’t expected it all to happen like it did. Some Reconnaissance Marine he was, couldn’t even figure out his own life.

“Got back home, spent time with everyone, rested, the whole shabang,” Ray said waving his hands around. As the important parts started to arrive, he became more and more expressive, needing Brad to understand what was happening. “Something just felt off, though. There were these guys that would hang around our apartment. They seemed normal enough but I just got a bad vibe from them, and it wouldn't let go. Figured, I should listen to my gut, it got me out of a warzone, and talk to Matt about it. Bit he waved it off,” Ray said, shaking his head. “Laughed and told me they were his dealers and he was a go between for some other people or some shit like that. We’d tested with stuff back in school but nothing major. But he started acting weird, jumpy and obsessive about the stupidest things.”

Ray remembered that, so clearly now with 20/20 hindsight, he felt like an ass clown. It took about 2 months for the fatigue to fade away and it started to build up from there. Matt had wanted to know everything about the team at first, who he had spent the most time with, what they did, what they ate, what they joked around about, what they talked about. He’d made his own conclusions about some of the guys but that hadn’t bothered him at the time. They were marines and there were some things about them that others wouldn’t understand, Matt included. But it had all escalated from there.

“Almost everywhere I went, he’d tag along. And if he wasn’t there, calls every now and then. It was the same group of friends too, over and over. Anyone else he’d immediately disapprove of. Shit like that. It just got more annoying as time went on and he’d always repeat some crap story about how it was all for me, because he was worried about anything happening to me and yada yada yada,” Ray explained to a silent Brad. “I meant to talk to him about it but the notice for my deployment came and I had bigger issues after that,” said Ray, suddenly getting up and starting to pace around.

“It was hard to focus on anything but the objective in Afghanistan. Command was fucking us 10 ways over to Sunday and the Hajjis obviously weren’t going to hold our hands and sing Kumbaya in a circle with us. Letting other problems take over would have gotten us all killed,’” Ray stated while running a hand through his hair. “I couldn’t do that to any of you. So for 6 months, I ignored everything but the AO. And when I got home, it seemed fine again. Like I had imagined all that shit he did or something. But it started up again, his behavior 10x worse now,” Ray said, letting out a sigh. It was almost done now, his story. 

Before he could continue, Brad interjected, his eyes much frostier than he had ever seen them before. “Are you sure you want to tell me the rest?” Brad asked. “I can just infer what happened if you don’t feel comfortable. Besides,” his mouth stretched into a smile, reminding Ray of something he couldn’t quite get, “I might feel compelled to take some actions. Call the guys, settle some scores, protect my own.” 

“No need Brad,” smirked Ray. “Matt’s got that taken care of. Putting aside the crazy possessive boyfriend act, he’s gotten himself involved in a gang, as their small time messenger or dealer or whatever he was. So those guys before, right, they turned out to be members of a rival gang they’d gotten out of sorts with. But I didn’t know that at the time,” Ray said pausing to build up drama, like the little shit he was.

“I only found out after they broke into our apartment, meaning to kidnap him, but found me instead. They didn’t get what they wanted, but they thought they’d leave a message anyway,” Ray said meaningfully, hoping Brad’d use his Recon training and wouldn’t make him elaborate. He was an elite marine but it was still a bit difficult to take on 6 people armed with guns and the element of surprise. The bruises from 2 weeks ago had only begun to start healing. 

“He didn’t seem seem to see anything wrong with leaving out information like that, though he did apologize a lot. Basically went on his knees when I said I couldn’t take our relationship anymore. Begged me not to leave him. But I couldn’t deal with it,” Ray explained with a shrug. “All that messed up shit was part of the reason I left the corps in the first place. If I wanted that, I’d have stayed with you guys. At least I’d have a decent chance at survival.” Glancing at Brad, he knew he’d have to hurry up the ending of his story. He needed to explain how he got here and if the Iceman was planning a murder, he wasn’t exactly listening to dear old Ray-Ray now, was he?

“So I left, moved in with another friend, got someone to help get my stuff. And for about 2 weeks, it seemed like everything was going back to normal, right? Like before, no problems or other shit. And then, out of goddamn nowhere, he shows up and begs to get back together again. Says he’s sorry and other dumb sappy stuff like that. But I keep saying “No,” and that just makes him angrier. So he just snaps and grabs my neck, tries to drag me out the door and to his car. Problem for him was, I still had my Recon training. Seriously, I was able to see that fuckimg move from a mile away. So I grabbed his hand and twisted it, just a little warning. But apparently it was a bit too much? Because his wrist broke. I shit you not Bradley, I flicked my hand and he has a broken bone. I’m on my way to becoming the next Arnold Schwarzenegger, I’m telling you. “  
“And then?” Brad interrupted, obviously wanting to end their Heart-to-Heart story time moment.

“Well, he left, moaning and bitching me out. And I didn’t exactly want to stay and find out what would happen. So I packed my bags, filled up my car, and went where my heart led me,” Ray said, a suggestive smile hiding the tension in his body. “Which just happened to be to you. Congratulations!”

“Well,” said Brad, while stretching his legs. “I’m not sure what to make of all of this but it figures that you’d be a part of this.”

Ray grinned and shrugged his shoulders, “What can I say? Your old pal Ray-Ray’s a danger magnet.”

“I’m assuming you have a plan, some sort of idea as to what you’re going to do,” Brad questioned, getting to what he wanted to talk about now. He’d be offended but it wasn’t anything personal against him, really. Brad always had a hard on for planning and this? This was the ultimate challenge, fixing the utterly fucked up life that Ray had managed to make for himself.

“Actually, I do. Shocking Bradley, I know. Who would have thought? But I was thinking about going to college on the G.I. Bill,” Ray explained, “and getting a degree. I was looking into nearby colleges and majors but with everything going on, I didn’t have time to really pay that much attention.”

“Well, apply and then you can start from there. In the meantime,” said Brad, standing up, “I’ll get you some towels. You stink worse than my niece and she’s a government certified hazardous waste site. A shower should should get rid of the first dozen or so layers of dirt on you. I don’t know if my bathtub will remain scar free though,” Brad drawled, smirking while retreating towards a closet.

“Aw Brad, you do love me! Tucking me in bed, feeding me a home cooked meal, fetching me towels, giving me life advice. It’s almost as if you can tolerate being in the same room as me for more than 10 minutes,” stated Ray, a mocking tone in his words to disguise his gratefulness.

Brad’s monotone voice could be heard from the closet, a muffled “It must be all that Iraqi sand in my head. Does things to your brain, makes you think whisky tango inbred hicks are actual good company” carrying through the stack of linen he was shuffling through.

Tilting his head back to lean against the couch, Ray let himself relax for a moment. The entire drive to Brad’s thoughts of what would happen had been running through his mind. He’d tell his tale and Brad would decide he wasn’t worth the headache or he’d kick him out immediately after hearing he was a devil worshipping faggot or a hundred other scenarios. But this wasn’t exactly what he’d been expecting, not that he was complaining. He wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth, not when Brad seemed to not give a flying fuck about the trouble he’d landed himself in. He should tell him thanks, that emotionally constipated bastard. Maybe he’d help him learn to process human emotions as a thank you present.

“Hey, Brad, you know I’m grateful to you, right?” Ray asked, looking at Brad from in front of the tower of towels. “I came here without telling you anything and with all this shit as baggage and you still haven’t kicked me out. You fucking rock, homes!”

“Ray,” Brad sighed, “you might be a whisky tango fuck up at times but you’re a marine. And as your TL, I can’t leave your ass out on the street. So you’re staying here for as long as you need. Now shut up and let my brain rest. I can tolerate only so much stupidity a day.”

“In that case, I’ll start doing some research for college. If I get it done in time, I can put in a late application” Ray told Brad, feeling much lighter standing up than he had while sitting down.

\------------  
The Next Day  
\------------

Early the next morning, Brad Colberts house was the recipient of a change in routine that would shock absolutely no Recon Marine, let alone Bravo Company, if they were made aware of it. Sitting at the table, the one and only Ray Person was busy with what seemed to be a stack of papers. Or, more accurately, what was once a stack and now covered every available surface on the table, lending a homey look to the spotless kitchen. Under normal circumstances, Ray might have felt a bit of guilt for mess, he might even have attempted to organize the papers. As it was, these weren’t normal circumstances. 

He’d stayed up late at night with Brad, drinking themselves silly and catching up on anything he’d missed. The hangover was the reason why Brad wasn’t awake yet, still in bed and most likely about to wake with a major headache. Ray, on the other hand, had woken up a few hours later in the guest room, cold sweat covering his body and lurching towards the nearest garbage basket, the contents of his stomach coming back up. After that extremely pleasant experience, he couldn’t bring himself to go back to sleep. At first it was Iraq that had been his lack of sleep and when that barely had begun to fade away, Matt had taken up their duty. 

Every time he closed his eyes, he remembered his eyes, pleading with him to stay. And he almost had, caught up in all the good times. But Joshua Ray Person was the product of a single mother, one that had made sure to instil a sense of self worth in him. He remembered all the boyfriends that had come and gone, thinking they could mess with her only son and not face her wrath. All of her hardships would have been for nothing him he had forgiven Matt, no matter how tempting and safe it seemed.

So he’d said no and started to think about himself for once, putting the needs of others second. He’s always wanted to be near Brad or Walt or some other marine, but Matt hadn’t really wanted to move, so it wasn’t brought up again. But here he was in Oceanside, California, doing grocery for Brad Colbert and looking up nearby colleges and applying to them. He liked to think that he’d made his Mama proud but he had to call her to make sure of that. Also, to prevent her from starting a nationwide search to find him. It was one thing to write short 3 sentence emails and 5 minute calls, another to dropp of the grid for over a month.

He’d worry about that later, though. Right now, he had applications to fill and essays to embellish. 

It was in this state that the Esteemed Bradley Colbert found him, laptop out and pen scribbling away. Stumbling around and rubbing his eyes blearily due to his hangover, Brad pulled out a chair and sat down. Still adjusting to the brightness in the room, he found that a bagel and muffin had been put in front of him, along with some orange juice. 

When he looked questioningly at Ray, he gave a small shrug and replied, “I woke up early and there wasn’t anything edible in the refrigerator. Figured the least I could do was stock up on food, since I’d be eating too. “

Taking a bite out of the muffin, Brad took him time swallowing before replying, squinting at Ray all the while. “I suppose you’re useful after all,” he mused, “for a cow fucking redneck that is.”

“You alway did say the nicest things Brad!” Ray sniffled, pretending to wipe away fake tears from his eyes. “And as a Thank You for your kindness, I’ll even let you help me with these applications. A sprinkle of that Iceman vocabulary magic will do wonders. All those drug-loving bitch ass intellectuals will be tripping over their feet trying to get me into their college.” Punctuating the statement with a broad grin, he aimed all of that sunny energy at Brad, settling once again into the familiar routine they had.

Scoffing, Brad shook his head, replying with, “I would hope that anyone in charge of a so called place of learning will be able to see that for the bulllshit that it is. Otherwise, my faith in the American Education System has sunk even further, if that is a possibility.”

“Brad, I would have thought that a man such as yourself would have realized the futility of hoping,” mumbled Ray through a mouthful of pens, “or have you forgotten the pain in the ass that was Operation: Iraqi Freedom?” 

“I’m impressed Ray,” Brad observed with raised eyebrows, “You’re actually making sense.”

“I aim to please, my sun and moon,” Ray crooned, fluttering his eyelashes in an obscene fashion. “Now, tell me, will putting down that I can get batteries to start by licking them help me? It has to be useful in some capacity when aiming for an electrical engineering degree.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you but that will only serve to highlight the point that you don’t belong in polite society. You’d be better off writing that you excel in damaging the eardrums of everyone within a mile with the caterwauling you call singing,” Brad pointed out, his mind going back to their Humvee in Iraq.

Frowning in concentration, Ray asked, “How will that help me get into any sort of college? At least by licking batteries, I showed inventiveness and problem solving skills, both of which are very appealing to these pussy ass liberals, if I may add.”

“Since when did you become so intimately acquainted with their preferences, Ray?” Brad questioned with a raised eyebrow. Oh, how he’d missed that eyebrow. It was hard to believe that he was still here but as long as Brad didn’t kick him out, he intended to make all of this a normal part of his life. Maybe not living with Brad, because, God, that was probably the quickest way to make sure their friendship died. But with all the colleges in California he was applying to, he had to be good enough for one, right? Living here would mean easy access to Brad and, he could admit this in his own mind at least, he’d truly missed Brad’s company. There were very few people who tolerated his sarcasm and stupidity, despite knowing his intelligence, or what he was capable of at least. Aside from his mother, Brad was probably the next best person to understand him. And he might not voice it, but old Ray-Ray had been a Recon Marine up until 6 months ago. Brad’s relaxed body and the crinkles appearing in his eyes said he appreciated seeing his old pal, so really, it was a win-win situation.

“Bradley, my friend, it’s a killed or be killed type of scenario. I either become a part of the pussy civilian world or it destroys me. Of course I’m acquainted to their preferences,” he answered. 

“Well, I suppose I should help you then,” Brad said with a sigh. “Can’t have you killed off by some secret nerd cult after being forced to listen to your sob story.”

“My hero!” Ray sighed breathily, fluttering his eyelashes and clasping his hands together.

\---------------  
A Few Weeks Later  
\---------------

The rest of the day passed by doing paperwork and before they knew it, a few weeks had gone by too. Life had went on as usual, with Brad at base and Ray finding part time work as a bartender. They had settled in easily with their usual rapport, insulting each other with a frequency and friendliness only understood by their fellow marines. But in the back of their minds, they knew it was about to change. Ray would be getting his acceptance letters soon and with that, this would all end.

The decisive day came on a Wednesday after a long night of bartending, Brad at Pendleton doing training exercises and Ray flopped down on a couch. They’d settled into a routine, in which Ray would take care of the house work in the morning and start researching housing and jobs near different colleges. Today happened to be one of his lazy days, where it seemed that staring at the cobweb on the wall 10 ft above him was the best thing in the world. He’d enjoyed it at first, having the freedom to do absolutely nothing and get away with it. Ray Person, however, was not someone meant to be doing nothing at all. He was a ball of vibrant energy at almost any given moment and as much as the sofa lovingly beseeched him to stay, he had work to get done.

He’d gotten through most of his work and was taking out the trash when he realized he hadn’t checked the mailbox. It was usually his first priority, his curiosity as to which college he would be going to eating him alive. This day, however, he seemed to be a bit more scatterbrained than usual. Moving his head along to the current radio hit stuck in his head, he grabbed the stack of envelopes and started sifting through them, eyes glancing over the words. Suddenly, his hands stopped, the words he’d been waiting to see finally here.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t gotten acceptance letters before, because he had. Contrary to popular belief, Ray Person was one one the brightest individuals someone could have the pleasure (or displeasure, in some cases) to meet, something Bravo Company would always be quick to point out. Being an untrained driver with little more than a few weeks of practice with a humvee was a difficult task and could lead to their death, which was why only the best were chosen for it. Being said driver and the RTO was only that much more difficult. Juggling both those responsibilities while driving in the desert at night with no map and no night vision, relying only on intuition, was something only Ray Person was capable of. So he was very smart, thank you very much, and was certain he’d make it into a good college.

But the one he wanted a letter to was the University of Phoenix, the answer to his dilemma. It offered a good electrical engineering program, so he could actually fucking enjoy learning, instead of running circles around these hippie losers. It was only an hour’s train ride from Pendleton, so he could keep his job and stay near Brad at the same time. The thought of moving out sucked but he refused to leech off of Brad any longer, not wanting to outstay his welcome. He’d looked at apartments and and was ready to talk to Brad about moving out, waiting only for this final decisive letter.

Steady hands not betraying his internal anticipation, Ray took the letter and sat down on the sofa, fulfilling what seemed to be his sole purpose in life. Taking a deep breath, he ripped open the envelope and fished out the letter within. His eyes barely moving past the first few lines, he took in the “Congratulations! We are pleased to…” and collapsed back on the couch, all the built up tension leaving his body. He’s take a few seconds to calm down and then read the rest of the letter. He had some work to do before Brad came home and he’d hate to be slaving away instead of celebrating with him.

It was this letter that Brad found on the table when he walked in after a long day at base. Ray had told Brad that the University of Phoenix was his top pick, the one he was holding out for the most, so he knew its significance wouldn’t be lost on Brad. An Iceman he might be but Brad Colbert had the heart of a fluffy unicorn. It was one of those things known by few and voiced by even fewer on pain of death at the hands of said fluffy unicorn. So after taking in Ray’s giant grin and reading the letter, he looked up with a small smile of his own.

“Congratulations, you dumb fuck,” Brad started, “I wasn’t aware that they allowed human and animal hybrids into college now but it’s a changing world. Who knows? You may even be able to marry your mother one day.”

“Thank you Bradley, it means the world to me that you support and love me through everything I do. Including my current mission, which just happens to finish this six pack. If only I had someone here with me…” Ray drawled, his face the picture of innocence despite the bottles he was holding.

Shaking his head, Brad held out his hand for a beer and commented, “What are friends for?”

It was one or two drinks later that Ray brought up the topic that both knew would come up eventually but avoided.

“I’m moving out Brad,” Ray told Brad while staring at the ceiling.

Frowning, Brad turned to face Ray. “Why?” he asked with confusion, “It’s only a short car or train ride away. Besides, paying rent and looking for a job will just be more stress you don’t need. That isn’t a problem here.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” Ray explained. “I haven’t paid any rent for the weeks I’ve been here and I refuse to continue on like that for the next 4 years, so I’ll be paying you back. And me living with you could cause problems in the Corps. People talk, officers pounce on stupid shit, careers are ruined. The fact is, I’m doing more harm than good while living here. Don’t worry about me, Bradley. I’ve found a couple good apartments near here. So we’ll still be BFF’s.”

“You cow tipping sister fucker,” Brad said while shaking his head, “Do you honestly think I would’ve let you in if there was even a hint of my career being destroyed?”

Neither of them commented on the fact that what he just said was a lie. Ray was an excellent judge of character and Brad would never let anything happen to a fellow marine. Still, he let Brad cling to his Iceman persona. If that’s what he needed to accept his manly love for Ray, that was fine by him. 

“The reason I moved to Oceanside was so I could have time to myself without nosy fucks like Trombley nagging me to death. No one here gives a shit if my roommate happens to be a man,” Brad attempted to persuade Ray, “they’re too concerned with the average American problems, like milk is now $3.21 instead of $3.11.”  
“The Marine Corps’ policy on homosexuality aside Brad, the fact is that I don’t like living like this. I’m living for free in your house and you gain nothing. I’d feel better seeing you if I wasn’t reminded of that fact everyday,” he admitted to Brad, bringing a bottle to his lips in an effort to avoid having to explain.

“Then you don’t have to,” Brad bugged him, the look on his face saying he’d get his way. Ray knew that Brad like his company, to a certain degree, but the idea that he might actually enjoy his presence and miss it was a bit strange to say the least. 

“If you’re so prissy about it, you can pay me rent or split the utilities bill or something,” Brad sniffed. “But moving 5 minutes away from here just so you can pay your own bills is so spazz fucking retarded, I can’t even begin to comprehend how intoxicated you must have been to come up with an idea with such a high level of stupidity.”

“Bradley,” Ray crowed in a slightly wobbly voice, “is this your ice cold hearted way of asking me to move in with you?”

Rolling his eyes, Brad shot back with “You’ve already moved in, you sister fucking hick.”

“Same difference Brad-Brad,” Ray said waving his protests away. “In any case, I accept your offer and we’ll go over the details in the morning. But right now, you and I are going to toast to our gay ass friendship and draw designs for matching friendship tattoos because we’re Best Friends Forever and Ever.”

“In your dreams, you inbred hick,” Brad shot back. That didn’t stop him from raising his beer bottle though. And if they spent most of the night on the carpet doodling tattoos and playing Mario Cart, no one but them would know. They deserved this small bit of happiness after what they’d been through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I hope you like this chapter and please don't hesitate to offer constructive criticism. I can be reached at my Tumblr @drowninginspace


	3. The End (Which is Actually the Beginning)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As life continues, Brad finds himself struggling to fight his attraction to Ray, doing what's best for both of them. It seems, however, that the universe doesn't quite agree with what he believes is the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! This is the last chapter and much more longer than I anticipated. I hope you enjoy!

All things considered, 509 N Cleveland St, located in Oceanside, California, was your average suburban home. 2 cars, if a bit beat up, were parked in the driveway. The lawn was neat and trimmed and the bushes were all well maintained. It was a nondescript, All-American house, the only thing missing was the picket fence, at least to the casual observer.

The reality was that the inhabitants of said house most likely didn’t fit the image someone would conjure of them in their minds. 

Exhibit A: A young man watering the potted flowers in the backyard wearing obscene gold sunglasses, underwear, an old bathrobe, and fuzzy yellow duck slippers all while reading The Art of War aloud in a high pitch voice.

This was exactly the scene that greeted Brad Colbert when he walked in, fresh from a run around the neighborhood. In a normal situation, both parties would be slightly embarrassed, but neither of them were normal, under any circumstances. It was a testament to that fact that Brad took everything in, sighed, and went to get some beer.

When he came back, Ray was sitting on a wicker chair and had toned down the volume a bit but not by much. The neighbors would start complaining, Brad noted in the back of his mind. The thought didn't bother him as much as it should have. These last 3 weeks with Ray had been pretty good and if the price for convincing the self sacrificing nimrod not to move out was naggy neighbors, so be it.

"I assume you enjoyed your philosophy class?" Brad questioned as he sat down next to Ray. The whisky tango hick was very vocal about his likes and dislikes. If you could filter out the garbage in between everything, it became obvious which was which. In this case, he hadn't insulted the parentage any of his fellow classmates, so Brad counted that as a win. "That seemed the only possible explanation as to why you felt the entire world needed to know what you're currently reading."

"Class surprised me homes," Ray drawled, stretching his arms in a way that distracted Brad. At this angle, he could see the tattoos curling around Ray's bicep, strangely uncomfortable for such a normal act. "I was expecting whiny brats there to satisfy their trust fund requirements. I can actually tolerate some of their company and the professor's not too bad either.” 

“Sounds like you’re enjoying the change in occupation,” remarked Brad. “At least one of us like our lives. Rather it be you than Trombley.”

“Wait, you’re still training him aren’t you?” Ray asked, quickly sitting up straight, abandoning the relaxed position he was in. “Oh god, how is he? No, wait, I don’t want to know. I'd rather imagine he's gained some humanity and rode of into the sunset with his SAW. Reality may be more than I can handle." The look of horror on Ray's face was something most of Bravo had experienced at some point in relation to Trombley and, pathetically, it made him smile. He's been going soft since Ray had arrived and he should probably do something about it but he couldn't bring himself to bother. The past few weeks were among the best Brad could remember and he'd like it to remain that way (not that he’d tell Ray that.)

"I won't update you on our resident psycho but let it be known that he's sane when comparing him and other individuals in what is known as the United States Marine Corps," Brad sighed, mind going back to the shit show that was training. "When we were in butt fuck Iraq, we had plenty of incompetent officers but the guys made up for it. They were vulgar and stupid and plain annoying but they got the job done and they got it done well. Half of these fuck ups can't even read a map properly! They’re Encino Man times 100.” Very rarely did Brad ever lose his temper, but when he did, he would rant to his heart's content and sway his listener to his side. It just so happened that Ray was the listener during every blow up and an excellent one at that.

"It can't be that bad," Ray consoled in a surprisingly soothing voice. "The Marine Corps might be sucky but Recon is the best there is. We're survivors, no matter how shitty the situation is."

"No, not this bunch Ray," Brad said with a sad shake of his head, "I mean, these inbred mother fuckers think country music is the peak of civilization. They worship Tim McGraw for christ's sake! Tim McGraw." He wouldn't consider himself a weak man but there had to be allowances made for the slight whimper that escaped at the end of the previous sentence. A man couldn’t be held responsible for basic human instincts. Crying over the state of the current Marines definitely qualified.

Apparently Ray didn’t share the same view because he was doubled over his knees laughing, the book clutched tightly in his hands and tears flowing freely out of his crinkled, brown eyes. Which, he could excuse, because Ray was a goddamn chicken fucking cocksucker not fit for society. His reaction was to be expected, if not fully appreciated. No, what made Brad Colbert’s blood boil was that he wouldn’t fucking stop. He’s looked at the clock 3 times these past 5 minutes and Ray was still rolling around on the floor, body shaking as if he was having a seizure. He was *this* close to kicking Ray in the stomach when all the caterwauling going on seemed to slow down.

“Alright, I apologize for that homes. But you have to admit,” Ray said shrugging his shoulders sheepishly, “that was pretty damn funny.”

“I decide to tell you how I’m feeling for once,” Brad growled, “and I get laughed at. Suffice to say, I won’t be doing this again.”

“Hey, hey, hey.” Ray got up off the floor quicker than Brad thought he’d take and sat down next to him, taking up more space than warranted his slight frame. “I just find it funny that the one time you go on a rightfully deserved rant, it’s about someone’s choice of music rather than actual war.” Here Ray’s eyes brightened up and hls mouth quirked up in a way Brad would have found distracting if he didn’t know it signaled something stupid and/or irritating coming up. “Like that time in Iraq, with the jalapeno and cheese. I mean, Trombley making love to his SAW doesn’t set you off but plastic masquerading as food packaged in plastic does? That’s really stupid, Encino Man level retarded my dude, I gotta tell you.”

“Ray…” Brad said quietly, letting the warning tone speak for itself. Truth was, he felt calmer now and Ray’s motormouth was a reminder of less complicated times (figures that his life would be at a point where that would actually bring him comfort). He wouldn’t admit it at gunpoint but it was the truth and he was ready for the rest of the day spent at home. It wasn’t as if he’s actually listen to him anyway, Ray wasn’t as scared of him as he should be.

“The stress is getting to you, Buddy-o-mine. You know what you need?” Ray asked with a waggle of his eyebrows. 

“I’m afraid to ask.” Brad replied in a deadpan voice, hoping against hope that the old plan to stay at home would come back from whatever dark recess of hell it was flung into.

“To get laid. You need to get some good, solid pussy. All American too. You’re a fucking Recon Marine. The ladies need to appreciate your war hero ass, give you some proper loving.” With this, he spread his arms out and gave a wide smile as if the idea he had just presented was not the most butt fucked, retarded, special olympics attending plan to ever formulate and be in existence.

“Do you hear yourself right now? Is this because you’re high? I bet you’re high. That’s the only fucking explanation. Ray, you better not have a meth lab in my shed,” Brad threatened halfheartedly, not even having the energy to deal with this. Just when he thought he’d grown used to and liked having Ray around him 24/7.

“No, listen Brad. It’s the perfect plan. You need to loosen up for once, no, prostitutes don’t count. Lucky for you, your buddy Ray Ray is here to help your emotionally constipated ass land a perfect night.” Brad was about to interrupt but he started waving his hands around and anyone who knew Ray knew that stopping him at that point was a lost cause. Sighing heavily, Brad continued to watch Ray plan the entire evening. No point in arguing with the inbred hick.

“Alright Bradley, get up. To the club we go,” Ray instructed, pulling on his shirt sleeves like a toddler.

“Have you forgotten that it’s only 5 pm?” Brad asked, giving into the insistent tugging nonetheless.

“Trust me, we need all the time we can get. First we have to get dressed and then I instruct you on the arts of being a human.” 

“What would an alien impersonating a half goat, half pig byproduct have to teach me about my own race?” Brad sniped, getting off the chair nonetheless.

“Of the two of us, I’ve been in an actual relationship with actual people. You’d be surprised-” Ray ended, his face clouding up. With the peacefulness of the past few weeks, both of them had pushed the reason for this stay in the back of their minds. Remembering it had obviously brought back memories to Ray, too fresh to not sting badly .

“You were saying something about teaching me your gay ass ways?” Brad questioned, strangely desperate to change the subject. The evening had been fine so far and he’d hate to spend the rest of the night nursing Ray’s pain. That’s what he told himself when something in his chest restricted his air flow, causing strange movements to happen there, not uncomfortable but not wholly welcome either.

“Yeah, let's go.” And within seconds, Ray was back to himself, acting as if nothing had happened. 

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Walking into the bar with Ray by his side, Brad knew immediately that he wouldn’t like how this day would end. Not that there was any doubts before. But the packed area and laughing people reinforced that idea a lot more than he’d like. He was just here to humor Ray and any intimate relation was out of the question.

“So Brad, here’s the plan. Both of us get some drinks and sit together for a while and brood. We can talk to each other but only a little and in a very manly voice. After a while, I leave to go mingle and catch me a hot dude. You sit here and eventually, some chick will show up and you entrance her with your Iceman personality. Got it?” Ray announced, making a beeline towards a few empty seats near the bartender.

“I abhor you with every fiber of my being, you whisky tango fuck up” Brad barked at him. He still followed him though, because a Ray set loose was something the world wasn’t prepared for yet.

“Me too, my eternal love, me too,” Ray said gleefully, observing the bar while ordering a beer.

After that, they fell into a pattern of sorts. Brad would insult Ray, Ray would fire back, Brad would scowl, Ray would smile angelically and repeat. They did this for about an hour, during which Brad felt himself get surprisingly comfortable, given the circumstances. The last time he’d been in a bar was with the rest of Bravo and they’d ended the day with a bar fight, coming home with bruises to show they’d participated but not enough to signal that they’d lost. It had actually been quite pleasant as far as fights go, with not that many consequences to deal with.

It was the same in this situation, Brad mused. He had Ray by his side, and while it may not be all of Bravo, they were there in soul, present in the speed at which they consumed alcohol. He may put on an act, but Brad had become very, and it pained him to say this, fond of Ray. He was exactly the type of person Brad hated with a passion but he made it work and he made it work well. Friends like him were hard to come by, steadfast through it all. 

So when a guy came up to Ray and whispered in his ear, Brad pretended to not care as hard as he could. And when Ray got up and went somewhere with the guy, Brad gave him a nod and acted like it didn’t matter to him. Which was where he was currently at, sitting alone on a chair, brooding, drinking and looking overall angry while keeping an eye on Ray (why was he bothering? Ray and what’s-his-name were just talking). This made it all the more surprising when a brunette made her way across the room and sat down in the seat previously occupied by Ray, looking like she didn’t have a care in the world.

“I’d ask you what your name is, but that’d be a bit cliche, so I’ll start with mine. I’m Lisa,” she smiled, extending a hand towards Brad.

Normally, he’d refuse to shake hands but he wouldn’t be here in the first place now, would he? “Brad,” he admitted, looking up from his drink. “And I’d say that it was a bit cliche either way.”

“You wouldn’t be wrong,” she agreed, “but our entire conversation is full of cliches. Girl sees lonely marine in a bar, decides to approach him, banter ensues. I couldn’t avoid it if I tried.” 

“I’m impressed, most people assume I’m army,” Brad muttered, tipping his beer down his throat. He was drinking too fast and it was too early but fuck all that. He didn’t have Ray by him, and random strangers were trying to make conversation with him and he had to pass the time somehow.

“My dad, he was a marine and served in Vietnam. It’s easy to tell you guys apart if you know what to look for,” Lisa answered, a smile on her face and her fingers coyly twirling strands of her hair.

It was this action that jolted Brad back to memories of Jen, and how she left him for Daniel. Lisa didn’t look so much like her, the dark brown curls a stark contrast to red hair from so long ago. But the action was the same and it was suffocating him and he had to get out of here because in the end, he was all alone (maybe some of this could be contributed to the amount of alcohol he had drank but his brain was too fuzzy right now).

“Not to be rude, but how exactly did you end up here alone? People usually come here in groups and it’s a bit dangerous to be by yourself.” While asking her this, Brad discreetly searched for exits or excuses to leave, just wanting the night to come to an early end.

“Don’t worry,” she laughed, “I didn’t come here by myself. My friends are over there, dancing. But it get’s boring being the third wheel and you looked lonely, so I thought why not keep you company?” She was looking at him through her lashes and, fuck, he could usually deal with this, drunk or not. But today was a shitty day and everything in his life was a colossal shitshow and trust his past to make talking to a random woman the cause of stress.

“Mam, I…” Brad began, hoping things would just stop already (this entire mess started when Ray had left him. Who knew he was the fucking glue that held Brad’s world together?)

And suddenly, Ray was at his side, swooping in and taking the drink from his hand.

“Hey Bradley! I see you’ve made a new friend” he said in his usual hick voice.

“I’m Lisa, Brad and I were just chatting.”

“I’m sure you charmed Brad’s pants off and I’m really sorry, but we have to go. An emergency came up and we’re needed somewhere,” Ray apologized, pulling Brad to his feet and gathering his belongings. 

“Please, it’s no problem. I’d hate to interrupt,” she said, excusing herself and walking off.

Staring at her retreating form, Brad had a hard time processing what was going on. One minute he was looking around in despair, forced to make conversation with another person. The next minute, Ray was supporting his weight and leading him out the door.

“What the everloving fuck is going on Ray?” Brad asked in a slurred voice. He’d had a bit too much to drink and and it wasn’t aiding his brain in any way, shape, or form.

“I happened to glance your way and you looked like a deer caught in the headlights, so I thought I’d help out, since I’m the reason you were there in the first place. Shit, I’m sorry homes. I thought it’d help both of us, a night free of stress and worry, you know?

“Shut up and get me home,” Brad groaned while trying to shield his eyes from the bright lights, “you fucked up, whisky tango trailer park trash. You can make it up to me later.”

“Hell yeah I will! Don’t worry I already have everything planned out and tomorrow’s a saturday, so we’re good. Me, you, all the junk we can eat, and a lovely piece of cinema I think you’ll like” Ray promised, steering the wheel and pulling the car onto the road.

“I think I’m afraid. Also, I need to puke.” Brad stared at the oncoming traffic from the other side of the road and hoped he’d make it back home in one piece.

“Well,” Ray said cheerfully, “It’s a good thing we brought your car and not mine, isn’t it.”

Brad started to nod off and replied with a mumbled “I think I hate you.”

Turning the radio to a pop station and keeping the volume low, Ray chuckled and said “No you don’t Brad. I’d know.”

Staring at Ray for a while, Brad murmured “You’re right,” and as embarrassing as it is, that was the last thing he said before closing his eyes and going to sleep. 

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Waking up the next morning, Brad was woken to perhaps the most frightening scene of his life: Ray Person standing right above him, eyes wide open and a serial killer smile on his face. Very surprised to say the least, Brad attempted to lift his arms and push back Ray in order to create some breathing room. However, the hangover he had prevented him from doing so, which meant he had to settle for the next best option.

“Ray, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?’

“Well Brad,” Ray sighed dramatically, “If you must know, I’m waiting to hand you advil and water for your bitch of a hangover so we can start our fabulous manly, bonding movie which-is-actually-a-tv-show night during the day. Aren’t you excited?”

“As excited as I am for getting my teeth pulled out Ray,” Brad said tiredly. “Now where’s the advil?”

“Right here, my sweet, gay, love. I’m sorry, does that bother you, I can stop?” Ray asked innocently, looking at Brad with his Bambi eyes.

Seeing as he was hungover and currently taking medication, Brad couldn’t do anything but glare at him, hoping his fierce anger would temper Ray. Judging by the waggle of his eyebrows and his smirk, that wasn’t likely.

“Do you ever fucking shut up?” he asked in an attempt to move on, because those eyes were getting to him and he really didn’t want anything to happen between them. Aside from the fact that his inability to work a relationship could destroy his friendship, there was the whole ending his career problem too. And as hypnotic Ray’s eyes were, he couldn’t give up the Marine Corps for them.

“Dude, why’d you even ask that question?” Ray laughed. “Of course fucking not. Now scoot on over a bit on the couch, your big, ugly ass is taking all the room on the couch.”

“As I recall, it’s my sofa. Therefore, My ass is entitled to all the space it requires,” Brad reminded, eyes focused on the DVD set Ray had just pulled out from a bag.

“I see you have noticed my little friend, young Bradley. But before I reveal to you the entertainment I have in store for you today, I need your help in spreading this bounty around us. I ain’t getting up in 3 hours to open a bag of chips,” informed Ray, taking out the contents of 4 plastic bags, each of them filled to bursting.

“Did you raid candyland in your attempt to acquire diabetes, Ray?” inquired Brad, his desire to sneer at the sight of 3 large fun size candy bags in a struggle against wanting to join Ray in stuffing his mouth, magnanimously of course. 

“I did no such thing,” Ray denied while building a wall of food in the middle of the sofa. “I just got what we needed for a proper tv show marathon.”

“Are you ever going to be done setting up like a good little housewife? I want to finish this punishment before my next tour,” Brad complained, purposely needling Ray.

“A) Some of us have all the time in the world, so we don’t need to rush, B) you wish I were your wife, and C) Voila!” Ray exclaimed, producing the DVD box from behind his back.

Staring at the cover, all Brad could do was wonder at the stupidity of Ray Person and why is was in such a crisis over him. “Is that a war movie? We have literally just returned from war and you want as to watch a war movie as a bonding activity. I’d say you were dropped on your head as a child but that would require someone to hold you in the first place.”

“Now, now,” Ray admonished, “Don’t go around insulting me when I’m about to introduce you to a great classic. This isn’t just any war movie, it’s Band of Brothers, about a group of heroic paratroopers in WWII, fighting Hitler and forming friendships that would transcend time.”

“Tell me,” drawled Brad, “did you get that line from a starred review or your own brain, because it seems a bit wordy.”

“Fuck you Brad, at least I have a brain. All you have is a coconut inside a slightly larger, head shaped coconut. Now shut up and watch.”

And that’s how Brad found himself squashed comfortably next to Ray for the next 10 hours, commenting on the experiences of the men and comparing it to their own.

“Hey Brad, Brad…. Brad? Braaaaaaad. Bradley Bear!”

“What Ray?!?” Brad demanded. “I’m trying to understand what the fuck is going on.” 

“Doesn’t the yelly guy remind you of Casey Kasem?”

“At least he seems a bit concerned about their training and dedicated to pushing them. Kasem didn’t even bother, he was stuck too far up Encino Man’s ass to see anything else,” Brad observed, noting that some of the officers seemed to handle their commanding officer the same way Fick had handled Casey Kasem and Encino Man.

“Pig guts, we didn’t have to crawl through pig guts in BRC. Military’s slacking these days” Ray commented on the training montage.

“Well Ray, it wasn’t necessary, what with you there and all,” said Brad, finding himself enjoying the show. It was still a bit too early to tell but even if it did turn out well, Ray wouldn’t hear a positive comment from him. No need to inflate his ego, otherwise he’s float away into the fucking sun.

“That’s mean.”

“I wasn’t aware we were in kindergarten, where that might have a slight chance of ruining my life.”

“Fine, see if I ever talk to you again.”

……..

“THAT ASSHOLE!!! You can’t desecrate food like that. Look at all the spaghetti going to waste,” Ray moaned, hand frozen in the bag of chips he was currently munching on.

“I thought you weren’t talking to me?”

“I’m not,” Ray sighed, “But I’ve decided to have a temporary ceasefire so I can properly anguish over that loss of food.”

“You are an extremely weak minded individual.”

“Ceasefire over, don’t talk to me or my food ever again.”

……

“But he put them in the wrong position, they could have all died if it was real life. Swear to god, he’d related to Encino Man somehow, I’m sure of it!”

“Ray… “

“Fine, party pooper.”  
“...”

“I can hear you breathing and it’s taking away from my experience Brad.”

“...”

“Ok then, I’ll be quiet.”

“...”

“Haha, I lied. Hey, they want to kill their officer too! I feel such a bond with them.”

“...”

“Ow, you didn’t have to kick me off the sofa Brad. Now my dharma is all off center, food is on the floor, and I-”

“...”

“Ok.”

So that’s how it went that day. A constant stream of banter and discussion, ending after insults were traded and vows to shut up were said, only to promptly be forgotten 5 minutes later. Brad felt him get sucked into a time long gone, sympathizing with these men, their losses and struggles, and it made him realize how goddamn lucky he was. Iraq was a series of eternal fuckups and command holding their dicks in their hands but everyone in Bravo came back home alive. 

They might have been bruised, battered, and missing parts of themselves they hadn’t realized were there (innocence, sanity, faith, confidence, hope… all of it slowly dwindling away) but at least they’d done it all together. He’d been so focused on fixing the next mess, he hadn’t stopped to think about what he would have done if any of his men had died right before him. Glancing to his left, he wondered how he would have gone through life without Ray there bitching next to him and decided he’d be content that he wasn’t in that situation and move the fuck on. 

These guys they were watching, they didn’t have that. Malarkey, Winters, Liebgott, Toye, Guarnere, all the others, they’d watched friends die and marched on. Everything life shot at them, they marched through it with their heads held high. Watching the last few episodes, Brad and Ray both got quieter, each lost in their own thoughts. For Brad, it was wondering if Bravo would have survived the situation Easy Company was in at Bastogne. They had similar harsh conditions, incompetent officers, loyal and brave men, and isolation from any aid. So close to each other, yet so far. If their places were reversed, would all of them still be alive? Would he live to sit here on this couch with Ray, warm and full of food, enjoying each other’s company while watching tv? Would they have shown nearly half the courage and resilience if it was called for? If these men saw the marines of Bravo and the war they had fought, what would they think of him and his men? 

Shame, maybe, at what they’d done. Or understanding, knowing that they’d done their best in a horrible situation. The paratroopers had fought in a war with a just cause, helping to protect the freedom of those who had been denied and defending their country. The invasion of Iraq was a mockery of everything they had stood for. They didn't choose to do so, it was thrust upon them. Nevertheless, he decided to be optimistic and believe that his team had done their best in the shitty situation they were shoved into, handling it in a way Winters would approve of. That was all that could be asked of anyone. They were home now and the past was in the past.

Still, watching Bastogne with Ray, they couldn’t help but bring themselves to comment and draw comparisons between the guys and Bravo. There was Winters, with the same commanding yet friendly aura that the Lt had. Dyke, who rivaled Encino Man with his incompetence. The men, of course, were all survivors and Brad hoped that a little bit of that could be seen in Bravo. It wasn’t all depressing though, thank fuck for that. He had his own problems (Ray) to worry about and stressing out over dudes who were most likely dead by now wouldn’t help things. So it was nice to see them ribbing each other and laughing, some happiness found in that cold winter.

“These smell like my armpits.”  
“At least your armpit’s warm.”

“What’s in these?”  
“Nothing you won’t eat Malarkey.”  
“I won’t eat Malarkey.”

“Anybody seen Lt. Dike?”  
“Try Battalion CP, sir.”  
“Try Paris.”  
“Try Hinkle.”  
“Hinkle, sweetie, I’m home.”  
“Hey, Eugene, Lt. Dike’s got a full aid kit. Try him.”  
“Yeah, I’m sure he’s not using his.”  
“Maybe Hinkle’s got a syrette for you.”  
“Eat your strudel.”  
“Hinkle Vinkle, eat ze armpit, huh?”

“Where are your boots?”  
“In Washington, up Gen. Taylor’s ass.”

“Hey, you can’t hide that smile from me, Colbert. Why is it that when they joke around like this, you look like a mother whose children just learned to fly or shit,” Ray wondered, “but when we do it, it’s like someone shoved pins up your nails but you can’t say or fucking do anything about it ?”

“Ray, have you considered that these men know there’s a time and place for certain behaviors, which,” Brad paused to turn and face Ray, “you simple minded cretins do not.”

“Hurts, Brad. Hurts me right here, in my hurt. You’re causing me pain Brad, I just want you to know that.”

“I can live with that,” Brad replied, painfully aware that the exact opposite was true, whether anyone else knew it or not.

Bastogne ended and The Breaking Point began and things steadily got worse, Brad feeling the drop in morale as keenly as if he was there. They stopped commenting on the conversation as much, only pitching in every now and then, the story of these men holding them close.

“Dude, if Spiers came and offered me a smoke right when I was talking smack about him, I’d shit myself,” Ray piped, eyes glued to the screen.

“I believe you do that on the regular anyway, Ray. You don’t need a specific circumstance for that. As it is, some of the officers have the exact same habit of turning up where they are unwanted, so I wouldn’t say we’re missing out on any experiences. Well, other than dealing with Dike.

“Would you rather Lt. Dike or Encino Man?” Brad asked, posing the question to Ray, watching the guys complain about a CO who never seemed to be present.

“God, that’s a fucking scary thought. Dike maybe?” Ray mused, eyebrows furrowed, watching them poke fun at their CO, just like he did in Iraq. “I mean, both are fucking terrible, but Encino Man just gives us more shit to work through and expects us to be thankful. He’s not even aware of how fucking retarded he is. Dike isn’t doing anything, so I feel like Fick would just take charge and do everything for him, except without the extra clusterfucks.”

“I’m impressed Ray,” Brad said with faux pride, “You somehow managed to convey your thoughts without revealing your whisky tango hick upbringing.”

“Middle Finger.”

“I can’t believe you’ve come to this point. How much more work could it possibly be to actually do the gesture, instead of saying it?”

“So much more than you realize Brad, so much more.”

It all went fast from there, picking up after nearly half the men had died or gone to hospitals (Poor Malarkey. Brad didn’t know how he dealt with it). Easy was charged with attacking Foy and Dike somehow managed to mess up worse than Encino Man would have. Watching the men surround Dike and request orders, Brad heard Ray let out a series of soft spoken curses, the feeling of helplessness all too familiar. 

“Spiers! Get yourself over here! Get out there and relieve Dike and take that attack on in.”

“Thank fuck for that, I wasn’t sure I could tolerate anymore stupidity from Dike. God, Spiers is scary.”

“We’ve already established this, Ray,” Brad said absent mindedly, more focused on Spiers handing out orders as if he’d always been in charge of Easy Company. “Please keep up.”

“I get that Brad, I was just reiterating what we’d previously discus- HOLY SHIT! THAT MOTHERFUCKER!” Ray shouted, previous thoughts shoved aside in favour of Speirs running across Foy. “That bastard, he’s fucking crazy. How did they not shoot at him?”

“I’m assuming they were having the same reaction you’re having right now,” Brad answered, equally impressed with Spiers’ run.

“I don’t know Brad, that isn’t likely, since I’m sort of turned on right now. That shit was really hot. On second thought, Lipton is 100% crushing on his CO, so it’s possible I guess,” Ray mused, face lit up with glee at the thought.

“Of course you’d somehow make this about jerking off,” Brad said critically. You could take the idiot out of the trailer park but the trailer park never left the idiot.

“You pointed it out, not me,” Ray defended himself, leaning against him slightly. They were 7 episodes through and had 3 more left.

So really, that’s how the day was spent. Just continuous story telling and actions, light banter mixed in and feeling loose in his skin. By the time the baseball scene came around, he was struggling to keep his eyes open despite it being only 9 pm. Still, he forced himself to stay awake till the end because he didn’t sit through all those deaths and pain only to miss out on the rest of the guy’s happy ending. Ray, unfortunately, couldn’t say the same. Somewhere around the time Nixon was introduced to the wine cellar of his dreams, the inbred hick had nodded off to sleep, mumbling about sharing is caring and giving his some would help with the alcoholism.

Settling back into the sofa, with Ray a comfortable weight by his side, Brad had time to think about what happened yesterday and the situation he was in. He liked Ray, that much he knew. He’d felt something in that football field but had pushed it aside, other matters taking priority. But there had been plenty of time to deal with that slow realization the rest of their tour, about 5 more months of time spent close and cramped together, nothing to do but keep alert and get to know each other. It was a bit strange that out of all the people in Bravo 2, it was Ray that brought out all these strange feelings. But then again, maybe not so strange at all. Other than their genders, Ray and his ex fiancé were polar opposites. Jenny was always prim and organized, a polite smile ready whenever Brad did something she didn't necessarily approve of. Ray was an inbred hick who didn't know when to give up, fighting till he won or took his last breathe. With Jen, it was agreeable and peaceful and nice. Anything with Ray was a battle, fiery and exhilarating and a match of wits. Brad knew himself well enough to understand which one he’d rather prefer.

Yesterday, seeing Ray with that guy brought out long forgotten feelings of rejection and loneliness. It was Jen and Daniel all over again, telling him they didn't deserve him, with his bravery and perfection and you’re too good for us. It was stupid but he felt sad seeing Ray dance with what’s-his-name, once again someone he cared about had chosen someone else over him. And then Laura(?) came over and she acted so much like Jenny and the past was replaying itself all over again. Coming back to daunt him with things he couldn't have, no matter how hard he tried, how much he strived to be better and reach for his hopes and wants.

But then Ray had come over and brought him home and tucked him in and acted like a 60’s housewife. For all the insecurities of yesterday, today was good. He liked this. The problem was, it wouldn't last. He might be good at what he did but the Marine Corps would never be willing to overlook this small detail in his private life if they were found out, not to mention the rest of Bravo. Brad cared about Ray, he did, but it was so hard to choose between him and the Marine Corps. One was a constant, the other was a variable, liable to change at any moment. Besides, Ray deserved something better. He wasn't a Marine anymore and he shouldn't have to needlessly suffer under those same rules if he was free now. It was one thing to be beside each other on each tour, joking and laughing and exchanging glances. It was another to wait on opposite sides of the world, wondering what the other was doing, anticipating letters or phone calls from both sides with bad news.

No, this was the way it had to be. But he didn't know all this additional information back then (he should have guessed, some Recon Marine he was). At the time, all he knew was that nothing would come out of these feelings, so when Ray waved and didn't look back, he let him go. Half a year to get used to this feeling of emptiness, knowing he might not see Ray again. Which made this even more fucked up that they were leaning on each other, Ray sleeping and Brad stuck in his mind, unable to rest.

“You really have me fucked over you now, don't you, you whiskey tango inbred sister ducking hick?” Brad whispered to Ray, the soft snores reassuring him that his quiet words had gone unheard.

Sighing, he picked up Ray, blanket and all, and brought him to the guest room. He’d have left him on the couch but knowing Ray, he'd bitch in the morning, and Brad didn't want to deal with that. He was required in base in the morning and Sixta would do enough of that for him.

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“I hate Professor Kinney,” Ray announced, dropping a stack of books on the coffee table. “That fucker deserves to be lined against a wall and shot. Infinite times.” 

“Perhaps the wise Professor has just realized that he has a cow half breed in his class and wants to give you the treatment you deserve,” Brad suggested, not looking sorry at all for his dilemma.

“No, no he hasn’t. What he has done is give me an F for my paper on differences in viewpoints and told me to rewrite the entire thing,” Ray fumed. He paced around the carpet, needing to release all of his pent up energy.

“How about we go out for a walk on the beach so you can stop wearing a hole in my carpet. That way, you can both all you want without actual consequences.”

“Brad, a romantic walk by the sunset won't improve my mood at all,” Ray warned, “so don't get your hopes up.”

“Who said I was romancing you?” Brad asked, a smirk on his face. “I’m just protecting the carpet my mom bought for me.”

“How sentimental. Who knew Big Gay Brad was a mama’s boy.”

“Just put on your sneakers already,” Brad told Ray, “I’d rather not spend the entire day standing around holding our dicks.”

“I’m coming, calm your ass down” Ray complained as he jogged out the door, catching up with Brad.

They made it to the beach and were walking on the boardwalk for about 2 minutes when Brad spoke up again.

“I assume you’re going to explain why you want to murder a certain Professor or… ?” questioned Brad, careful not to look at Ray. He needed to vent out his anger and staring at him while he was doing so wouldn’t help him at all.

“World history, I’m writing my final paper for the semester. I told you, right? Differences in viewpoints. So I wrote the damn thing on how sometimes, even the victor doesn’t even write history the way they see it. Rather, it’s a few people, doesn’t matter which side, that have all the power and do it. I passed it by him and the fucker said it was quote unquote unique, so I figured I’d do. I took examples from different periods of time and places, real diverse and shit. He graded it and said it was enlightening but he has to fail me because I can’t count myself as a source. Bullshit! I fought in the Iraq War, which is currently going on right now as we speak, and let me tell you, the way I saw things happen aren’t what’s happening on screen. I told him that, I’m basically a primary source fucker, but he said that wasn’t what he was looking for. However, due to his infinite kindness and generosity, I am allowed to rewrite the damn thing and hand it back to him in about 10 days. It took me a month to write the first one and he wants me to do it again in ⅓ of that time. Fuck Professor Kinney and his pussy ass, liberal dicksuck ideas.”

Taking a deep breath, Ray indicated that he had let out all of his steam and was in a slightly better mood, if the slight twist of his mouth was anything to go by. Unfortunately, all Brad could do was stare at him for a seconds before bursting out in laughter.

“What, I don’t see anything funny about my hard work going to a pile of shit. You were supposed to sympathize with me homes, moan about how the pussy minded, wine sipping civilians are ruining everything, not agree with them.” Ray was pouting, not looking serious at all despite the heatedness of what he had just said.

“I can’t believe that even you would be retarded enough to get your panties twisted over a tired, middle aged communist grading your paper and doing his job. Of course he would fucking fail you! In what life would the Communist Republic of California take the word of a U.S. Marine on something. I don’t feel bad for you at all and you’ll just have to deal with it,” Brad said, shaking his head. While he didn’t think Ray should have failed or at the very least, have more time to rewrite the paper, he wasn’t about to tell him that. You show Ray you agreed with him and he’d crow about it for the rest of the year. It was better to avoid that altogether. 

“Still, I thought a fellow brother would help me out, not shove my failure in my face,” Ray sighed, looking dramatically off towards the sunset with a solemn yet longing expression on his face, the likes of which were only seen in a RomCom or Rudy’s life. 

“Look idiot, they can’t guarantee that what you’re saying is true. For all they know, you could be making it all up, fabricated to suit your thesis. And maybe next time, don’t add the military in anything. You should know by now that they serve to fuck up your life just as much as they help.” Glancing at Ray to reaffirm that he understood, Brad was met with a wide grin and sparkling eyes. In the .2 seconds he had to assess his situation, Brad came to the realization that Ray was about to do something insanely stupid.

“Oh Brad, I don’t know if I can ever be whole again,” Ray declared with all the flare required of a beauty queen. “The one person in the world guaranteed to support me and I am let down. If only there was a way to make up for this heinous transgression.”

“Rolling his eyes, Brad said, “Putting aside the fact that you’re moving on from the vocabulary of a 1st grader, I assume you know exactly how I can make it up to your broken and bleeding heart?”

“I am hurt Bradley, hurt, that you would consider me as manipulative as that. But yes, I do, in fact, have some clue as to how you can right your wrongs.”

Waiting a few seconds for Ray to voice is retarded idea, Brad questioned, ‘Are you actually going to tell me or should I just walk away already?”

“Well... ” 

“Ray…”

“A friend of mine is planning on hosting a Halloween party,” Ray explained. “If you went with me, I’d consider us even.”

Staring at Ray with a blank expression, all Brad could do was hope that his feelings on this dumpster fire of an idea were properly conveyed.

“What do you say Brad?” Ray asked cheerfully. “Are we going?”

“Ignoring the fact that I got very drunk the last time I went somewhere with you, this idea is a colossal fuck up from start to finish. In fact, it rivals the stupidity of Encino Man and his duck taped window.” Finishing what he had to say, Brad turned around and started to walk back home, Ray following closely behind.

“Come on Brad, it’ll be fun!” he whined, staying far enough away so Brad couldn’t accidently on purpose punch him. “I had our costumes all planned out too. You could have been Encino Man and I’d be Casey Kasem. It’d be great, what could be scarier than that?”

“The fact that you thought that idea up with your own brain frightens me,” Brad stated in a monotone voice, “however, I must decline. They’ve been amping up our training at Pendleton, making us work harder and longer. I think it won’t be long before we get our warning notice for our next deployment.”

Looking to his right, Brad found the space beside him empty. Ray had slowed down considerably and he could tell that the implications of that were running through his brain. Bravo would be leaving soon. Brad, Walt, Rudy, Kocher, all the guys, they’d be leaving for Iraq again, just like last time. This time, however, he wouldn’t be by their side.

“When do you think?” Ray asked him, visibly trying his hardest to look normal.

Not quite looking him in the eyes, Brad responded. “A week, maybe two. Nowhere far away enough for us to attend that stupid party.”

“Well,” Ray drawled, looking bright and animated once again. “I’ll just have to content myself with the idea that if you had been here, we would’ve gone. Don’t worry Bradley Bear,” he said with a wink, “I’m a Marine, and Marines make do.”

And just as quickly as the mood had became somber, it was once again lighthearted and playful, much to Brad’s relief. He’d miss Ray and this was the first of many tours without him by his side, so he’d have a lot to deal with on his plate. He’d hate for one of those things to be Ray moping around, enlisting as a Marine once again in a spontaneous act of stupidity. It was one thing for Ray to be a Marine and have Bravo watching his six and him watching theirs. It was another to have inexperienced grunts and trigger happy lunatics watching over a former Recon Marine. That was something Brad wouldn’t let happen to anyone on his platoon, let alone the whisky tango inbred sister fucking cow hybrid that was Ray.

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“Look at that boys,” Sargent Antonio “Poke” Espera shouted from his place at the opening of the tent. “It looks like Colbert got another love letter from his wife back home. Tell me, does Person actually know how to use that mouth or did all that practice sucking officers cocks come to waste.”

His remark was met with laughing, shouting, and jeering from the men of Bravo 2, all of whom were eager as always to hear about their former fellow Marine. They might not let it show often but communication from home was few and far between. Ray’s letters full of complaints, his exploits, and vivid descriptions of the stupidity he witnessed were one of the few bright things about Iraq, something which none of the guys in Bravo 2 would admit under pain of death.

It started out simply enough. Brad had gotten that first letter when they had been stationed in Iraq for 2 weeks, bored out of their minds. The men hadn’t paid any attention to it except to rib him about Ray, but the slight laughter that escaped him while reading the letter drew them around him. After reading the entire thing twice, he handed the papers to Garza, knowing that they wouldn’t leave until they read it. That first letter was just full of stupid updates on daily life, simple enough but pure entertainment for all these guys who were so far away from home. It was like Ray was beside them once again, ranting about the pussy infrastructure of Iraq. Crowing about the A+ Kinney gave him on the redo, bitching about the lady down the street who let her dog pee on the lawn, giving commentary on the current election, rating all the current pop stars on a scale from Justin Timberlake to Avril Lavigne, assuring Ray that he’d visited his mother (She makes amazing food Bradley! Why didn’t you tell me earlier?) and she seemed fine. Stuff like that. In fact, Bravo 2, the hyperactive 5 year olds that they were, decided to write a back to Ray. Not exactly a letter, it was just a series of messages from everyone in the platoon, some longer than others, joking and talking to him after so long. After getting those, Ray’s letters were now also aimed to the rest of the platoon. 

There was one especially memorable moment, about 3 months into their tour, when a series of boxes arrived, all the size of a shoebox. Coming from Mr. Joshua Raymond, Mr. Ray Person, Mr. Josh Person, and a Mrs. Bradley Colbert, they were filled to the brim with cookies, candy, and snacks. In the letter, Rat had sounded like a dutiful wife, praising them all for their valuable service and modestly saying how she (Mrs. Bradley Colbert) had spent the entire night making fresh, homemade cookies (“I wasn’t aware that you could now slap a Waldbaums label on homemade goods.”) for her husband and his brave platoon. Those boxes had lasted about a week, the guys constantly remembering the letter with shakes of their heads and their mouths drooling at the thought of that long gone food.

So it made sense that they would be eager to read what he had to say, this brother that wasn’t with them. Not that Brad would make it easy for them. “Now, now Poke. Ray may be whiskey tango trailer park trash but he has many things going for him. If you’ll excuse me,” he said, heading toward his corner of the tent after getting the letter, “I must read through it first before letting your innocent eyes fall onto the garbage that Ray’s constantly spouting. I can’t let you boys be exposed to such naughty things, my heart wouldn’t be able to bear it.”

“It’s ok dawg, no need to go through all that trouble for us,” Poke assured him. “We’ve survived Ray Person in the flesh, we can live with him from across a sea and on paper.”

“Is that so?” Brad asked absent mindedly, confused by why Ray would feel the need to dedicate an entire separate sheet of paper to the words “Please sit down Brad before you read the letter. And no weapons!”, followed by what seemed to be a stick figure looking sheepish and sweating (How was that even possible? What had that fuck up done now?)

“Come brothers,” Rudy said,noting the look on Brad’s face. “Let us give Brad some time to properly understand what Brother Ray has to say. I’m sure if it is amusing or good news, he will share it with us.” Amidst Bravo 2’s grumbling, he organized them in a circle and began to demonstrate the proper stance for a headlock, leaving Brad to the letter and his thoughts.

Which was probably for the best, because as Brad read what Ray had to say, he felt a headache coming on at the stupidity of his former RTO. It wasn’t as bad as the scenarios his head had conjured up in an instant but neither was this something he wanted to cheer and celebrate about.

He sat there for a few minutes in silence, wondering why he, of all people, was in love with an idiot. Poke came over, a questioning look on his face, and Brad handed the papers to him without a word. At first reading quietly, Tony gave a whoop of laughter, calling to the guys, “Hey, you’ll want to hear what Person’s done now. Gather round, I am about to read to you a tale of mass retardedness and stupidity. Everyone here? Alright.”

Clearing his throat, Poke began to read the words that would be the source of Brad’s unrest for days to come.

“Greetings Bradley!  
I hope that you have put your fine recon skills to use and read the smaller paper that told you to sit down. And not be near weapons. If not, here are those instructions once again. I would like to preface this by saying I never meant for this to happen but it did so we’ll just have to move on with our lives.  
Long story short, we are now the proud parents-”

Here Poke was cut off, the rush of voices around him making his efforts to continue reading futile. “Shut up you motherfuckers! Didn’t your mother teach you to be quiet when your betters are speaking? Now, we can either continue or you can voice your assumptions and let the Iceman kill you later on.” With the guys properly quiet again, he started to read.

“We are now the proud parents of Princess Sparkle Time the Siberian Husky, or I’m the parent and you’re the uncle. Before you complain, no I am not changing her name. Your niece came over and gave her a name and to change it now would be to endure the hatred and anger of the younger Colbert, which I can not do. If this offends your manly warrior spirit so much, you can just call her Sparky. Or PST, which stands for Petite Sized Testicles. Many of the guys in Bravo suffer from this calamity and I’m sure they’ll make a place for her in their heart.”

Tony took a break from the letter, smirking at the guys after reading the last line. Amidst all the hooting and laughter, he said, “Well, at least you whisky tango trailer park trash can’t claim that Person doesn’t know the real you.” Turning his head around and staring at Chaffin, he asked, “Isn’t that right?”

“Fuck you man,” Chaffin replied, not looking the least bit offended.”That’s not what your mom said to me before I left for Pendleton 4 months ago.”

“I realize my mother is attractive and higher than you’d ever think to get so you need to fantasize about the actual thing but she was babysitting my kids as I spent one final night with my wife, so that’d be pretty hard to do.” Poke raised an eyebrow, daring Chaffin to rebut him. “Anyway, back to Person’s sad and pathetic life.”

“I would like to defend myself my stating that this was an act of heroic bravery, to protect an innocent from a harsh life that was not earned. Exactly the sort of thing your sense of honor approves of Brad! 

Princess Sparkle Time was actually the runt of the litter, the child of the dog that pees in our yard. There were 6 puppies in all and I overheard the crazy dog lady saying how 4 or 5 of them would go to a shelter or some shit like that. Princess Sparkle Time obviously wouldn’t be one of the lucky ones staying here since she’s weak or pathetic and other stupid bulshit. So that’s why I decided to use my crazy Recon training to break into the house and liberate her. Don’t worry, I didn’t tear her away from her family or anything. It was literally the day before she was going to leave and I made it look like she ran away, so no, the police are not after me. Worst case scenario, the lady thinks I got her from one of the shelters and is convinced I’m stalking her. So surprise! You’re a daddy now!

Aside from that, things have been…”

Ray started listing what other things had happened to him from there. While interesting, it obviously wasn’t as funny as the fact that Brad was now the co-parent of a stolen puppy, something which these fuck ups would no doubt be reminding him of from the rest of his life. Starting from now.

“Hey, Brad,” Poke smiled, “If you need any parenting tips, you can always go to Lilley. The dude’s a father since his last tour. The Marine Corps rejected his wife’s application cause she was pregnant with his child. Some luck, huh?”

“Speaking of, how do you know that’s your child Lilley?” Chaffin asked, his signature smirk on his face, “It could have easily been the brat of a nigga or POG and you’d be none the wiser.”

“Don’t talk about my wife and child like that brah, it ain’t right. Besides,” Lilley explained, “my wife was 3 months pregnant when we were in Iraq last time and got the news. Jasmine’s definitely mine.”

“Jasmine?” Tony demanded with raised brows. “First Pocahontas and now Aladdin. The White Man needs to find his own culture and not steal from ones that he has raped and pillaged throughout history. It is a humiliation my people have to suffer throughout the years, long after-”

“As much as I enjoy listening to how my ancestors are the reason for your suffering, I would rather not today. Now get busy all of you.” Giving everyone in the room a long, hard, patented Iceman Glare™ , he muttered, “I don’t need you lazy, uncultured, turd biscuits looking over my shoulder as I write Person back. Shit like this isn’t right.”

“Don’t take it too hard on him,” Pappy advised, his eyes crinkling in silent laughter. “He was most likely missing you and a dog is a man’s best friend. He’s probably happier than ol' Blue layin' on the porch chewin' on a big ol' catfish head right now.” Slapping him on his back, he left Brad more confused than he’d originally started.

“I know, write him back and tell him if he sends more food, you’ll forget everything happened. Heck, you’ll even throw in a blow job!” Garza shouted, the entire tent erupting into laughter along with him.

“Sargent Colbert, are you a faggot?” Trombley asked, his eyes slightly more piercing than usual.

Out of anyone that could find out, it would probably be Trombley. He’d also be the worst to find out. Not that anything would happen. He may share a house with Ray and apparently a child (Fucking Christ, Ray) but there was nothing going on there. His job and Ray’s heart wouldn't let that happen. They both deserved better.

“If, by some chance, I did happen to be a homosexual and have homoerotic tendencies, I would not tell you as that would be breaking the law of the fine establishment that is the Marine Corps,” Brad replied coolly. “However, what troubles me is that you would believe that out of all the fine men on this planet, it’s Ray Person whom I would choose to be in a relationship and tie myself for life to.” Shaking his head in mock sadness, Brad stood up and gathered his laptop. “I expected better from you Lance Corporal. Now if you’ll excuse me, I'm going to run a few laps to clear my head. After which, I intend to have a few words with Person, albeit an ocean and few weeks apart.”

Striding away, he hoped that the oncoming headache he felt coming would be the worst thing Ray had in store for him. 

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Looking up from the letter that arrived a month later, Brad stared into the space before him and said matter of factly, “I'm going to fucking kill him.”

Once again, a small group had gathered around him, eager to hear about Ray’s latest exploits after a day spent riding in humvees and shooting at the enemy in the dark. Looking over his shoulder, Rudy read the offending piece of paper and exclaimed, “Brad, you should be happy! Ray is enjoying his life to the fullest and is aiming to share some of that happiness with you. There’s nothing wrong with that brother.”

“I agree, Rudy,” Brad said calmly, “there’s nothing wrong with having happiness and sharing it with others, no matter how sappy and disgusting. However, I object to him getting a second pet, one that will also be living with us, despite the fact that I had let my feelings be known about this in the previous letter.”

“How did he get this one?” Hasser questioned, the rest of the guys gathered around to laugh at Brad and the shit show that was currently his life.

Sighing, Brad decided to answer, if only so they would shut up about it all and not bother him for the rest of the day. There were no guarantee that it wouldn’t come up again. In fact, if they didn’t bring up the fact that he was an unwilling father to 2 pets, something was very wrong with Bravo 2. That didn’t mean, however, that he had to put up with their smirks and ribbing right now. A hard glare and promise of more work should give him time to come to terms with the fact that Ray was building a life for them back home. As domesticated and picturesque as the American Dream, with a white picket fence and 2.5 kids, despite the fact that they weren’t in a relationship. Of any sort. Which threw a wrench into Brad’s plan to avoid anything that might bring them trouble, so Ray could continue to be a part of his life. He really should have a talk with Ray about this. But that was for later, if he made it back home. Right now, he needed time to himself and the only way to get that was to give these fuckers information so they could go away and gossip like old ladies.

“I realize that all of your pathetic lives depend on news about Person’s life, so I will indulge you,” Brad told the gathered onlookers, all of them waiting eagerly for the next installment of the Ray Person’s Quest to Fuck Up Brad Colbert’s Life series, now available in the shithole near you! Picking up the letter, he began to read.

“Alexander Maximilian Percival Gilbert the Third was the stray cat that wandered around on the streets, remember Brad? Princess Sparkle Time and I felt bad for him, so we gave him some food. The problem was, he wouldn’t leave us alone after that. So I thought, why not adopt him? We already have one child, what difference does one more make. And yes Brad, I got your letter. But he was so cute and now he’s a big brother to Princess Sparkle Time. They’re so adorable, you’ll puke when you see them. I took them to Natalia Robert Photography for a pet photoshoot session and dude, I wanted to cry, my babies looked so grown up. 

I have a set at home but I included a couple extra copies of the greeting card/birth announcement ( [Link to my edit for those cards](http://drowninginspace.tumblr.com/post/164109761709/an-edit-for-my-fic-dawning-realization-in-which) ) for you and the guys. I was originally going to send only one photo but then I remembered Rolling Stone’s girlfriend, Gunny’s words on how a Marine will fuck anything, and Chaffin’s dirty mind. Please, I beg of you, don’t desecrate the photos of my children! And if you must, keep it to yourself. Otherwise, you can meet me at the flagpole at Pendleton a week after you come, we’ll go a few rounds. I mean it guys. No funny business with my babies.”

“Well, gentlemen. That’s all you’re going to get. Take these cards and leave me alone to wallow in my misery,” Brad instructed. He had to decide whether or not he wanted to write another letter to Ray. He’d hate to end up with another pet as a result but Ray might do something more stupid if he thought Brad was ignoring him. Once again, Brad was left wondering what exactly it was about Ray that left him unable to do anything but go along with him. 

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“It’s so sad isn’t it?” Gina asked, clearing the table after dinner. It was the day after a Bravo meet up, with enough leftovers to last them the entire week, so no, she wasn’t cooking, thank you very much.

“What? Life? Life is always sad, you just have to look for those small moments that make it bearable. Like you, Jesse, the baby that’s on the way.” With each word, Tony moved closer to his wife until he had her wrapped in a hug, arms wrapped tight around her and head resting contently on her shoulder.

“That was very sweet, mi amor. But I meant Brad and Ray.” Twisting around in his arms, she gave him a look that meant he was supposed to know what she was talking about. “They care about each other so much but never seem to even think about the possibility of a life together. We both know they deserve as that much.”

“Putting aside the fact that the Iceman wouldn’t touch Ray Person with a 10 foot pole-”

“Are you sure?” Gina interrupted, disbelief evident in her voice. “You served with them and know them best but it really doesn’t seem like that. I mean, they look like me and you in the middle of an intense fight, right before the make-up sex. But they’re stuck in that moment forever and can never get their happy ending.”

“Everything else aside,” he acknowledged, “ goddamn DADT would never allow for anything to happen, even if there was something there. There’s no use getting emotional or upset over that, it’s not good for you or the baby. Those guys are tough motherfuckers, they can handle themselves.” 

“I know that. But they shouldn’t have to, especially with friends like you guys supporting them.” Going upstairs to get the kids ready for bed, she stopped on the staircase and gave him a slight smile. “You might be a former Recon Marine but I have the common sense that all of you jarheads lack. With that authority, I’m telling you, they’re a star-crossed tragedy just waiting to get a happily ever after.”

Late that night, with the rest of house and the entire world asleep, Poke lay awake going over his memories. He’d only spent one tour with Person and the combination of his stupid ass rants and battalion’s constant fuck ups made it hard to remember anything concerning his behavior with Brad specifically. But no, that was a lie. Tony was an honest man and he spoke what was on his mind and he knew what he remembered. Or more accurately, what he made himself remember (shove those other parts back in his mind, they had no place in this hell hole.)

He’d once told Rolling Stone or Brad or Trombley or someone that it was the white man’s world and he was just trying to survive in it (If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em). Part of that survival was ignoring anything that might be too complicated to handle, with no solution and only suffering and hardships in sight. 

So Poke sighed internally, gave a very large mental eye roll and went through any instance or scene in which either Brad or Person showed that they were interested in each other. Actively searching for proof, he found that his brain happily flooded all these repressed memories, like the little bitch ass traitor it was.

Insults exchanged, far more elaborate than anyone else received in the platoon, that’s for sure. Compliments too (never to his face) and god help you if anyone but the Iceman said anything against his RTO. Person forgiving Colbert when anyone else in his place would have maintained a chilly silence for days at the very least. Glances at each other, jokes, songs. Sharing a home, packages and letters while on tour, accepting that he’s a father to 2 pets without putting up any fucking sort of fight, not being in any relationships. It’s all there, whether intentional or not. But it’s the white man’s world and it’s not a very forgiving one, not even to people who seemingly fit their model, set up for the entire world to see.

Which means that as usual, he had to get these white boys’ shit together for them and give them their fairy tale ending. Otherwise, he’d never hear the end of it and Gina make it her own personal life mission to make their gay ass, homoerotic love affair reality. He might enjoy watching them struggle occasionally but Poke wasn’t a sadist, he knew compassion and mercy and kindness and love. And the stupidity he was about to embark on was exactly that, for 2 white boys no less (They’d been through alot, but dawg, he didn’t expect himself to start caring that much). Person and Colbert didn’t need to know about this, though. He had a reputation to uphold. Colbert’s, however, was about to be brought down a few notches and Person’s was nonexistent in the first place. He fell asleep soon after, a smirk on his face that his friends knew to fear and battle plans for the next day in his head.

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In the morning, after cleaning up the mess from breakfast and when he was sure his targets would be awake, Poke got to work. Usually, it was difficult to get all their close friends from Bravo in one place, everyone coming and going. But this was the week of a meet up and everyone was guaranteed to stay for a few days at the very least, catching up and reminiscing like old ladies with amnesia, forgetting that they saw each other a week ago or a month ago (But it’s different when the entire group is there, not like those meetings of 2 or 3 people).

“Hello Poke, how are you?”  
“Good, Lt. Listen, I need your help with getting Colbert and Person to hook up.”  
“.... I don't think that's a very safe thing to do, especially with how fierce Brad is about his career. Have you asked them about this?”  
“No I haven't but I'm telling you, it’ll be for the best of everyone. Besides, they live in the same house. If the marine Corps hasn't investigated that yet, they won't at all.”  
“How can you be certain I won't give them away?”  
“We’re Recon marines, we care about each other too much to do that. Besides, their situation and your’s with Gunny are very similar.”  
“I'd ask how you know but I don't think I want to. What next?”  
“Meet tomorrow at The Miller’s Table, 5pm?”  
“Alright. And please, don't get them in trouble.”  
“They may be white motherfuckers but their my white motherfuckers. I look out for my own. See you tomorrow. Tell Gunny to be there.”

“Good Morning Brother Tony! I hope you’re doing well.”  
“I'm fine dawg. Wanted to know, you fine with guys being homoerotic in the Corps?”  
“Of course brother, the atmosphere brings it out in all of us. Besides, we can not help but love each other, for our circumstances help us realize how short life truly is.”  
“Great. I’m trying to get Colbert and Person to get together, those oblivious motherfuckers, before my wife takes it upon herself. Meeting tomorrow at The Miller’s Table at 5 if you’re interested.”  
“Of course I shall be there. Brad and Ray deserve happiness after all that they’ve been through and I would be honored to help that happen.”  
“Seriously dawg, you’re more gay than the entire Marine Corps combined. Just be there and tell Pappy about the situation. You know what, also tell Manimal and Chaffin. I ain’t the personal messenger for a group of white boys, some who can’t figure out the signals their heads and dicks are giving off.”  
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then, brother.”

“Lilley, Bravo meeting tomorrow at The Miller’s Table at 5, be there.”  
“Not that I don’t like you brah, cause I do, but we just met a few days ago. Besides, my wife wants to take Jasmine to see Disneyland.”  
“Yeah, well, tell her this is important. If the fucking Iceman goes around Iraq with blue balls cause he’s mooning over Person, it could affect his combat readiness. They get together, enjoy his leave, fuck a few hundred times, which we’re aiming to help them with, you don’t die. Sounds like something you’re wife would want to support.”  
“Brad Colbert and Ray Person? Shit, I never even thought about that…”  
“Doesn’t matter if it’s gay, motherfucker. It’ll make him less pissed off all the time help you come back to your wife and daughter alive. Doesn’t affect me dawg, that was my last tour. I’m a free man now but you’re not and neither is Colbert. You should help each other out.”  
“Alright, tomorrow at 5 you said?”  
“Yeah, at The Miller’s Table. Tell others but only those that won’t rat them out. We’re doing this to help them, not end them.”  
“I know brah, I would never do that to a fellow marine.”

“I’ve heard you’ve been making some interesting phone calls. Are you jarheads as stupid as you look or do you actually think someone won’t sniff this out?”  
“Aw, Love you too Doc. And no, no one will ever get a whip of this. We’re Recon Marines; Swift, Silent, Deadly. Appreciate it if you made it tomorrow, though.”  
“What makes you think I would ever take part in this half assed plan of yours, of which I haven’t heard anything solid. So far, it’s nothing more than shoving Colbert and Person in a closet together to work out their feelings for eachother and make out.”  
“If only Doc, if only. But you care about us, no matter how much you bitch us out. Brad and Person getting together could only benefit us. I mean, shit, we can’t be in a deeper hole than we’re already in.”  
“Say I go along and battalion finds out, we’re all screwed. Forget Sixta, Colbert will rip off all of our balls, shove them into a blender and feed them to us personally if we ever do anything to get between him and the Marine Corps.”  
“The Marine Corps has it’s head so far up their officer’s ass, they won’t notice shit. Dawg, the entirety of First Recon could show up to Los Angeles Pride Parade and jump onto one of those floats and have it televised to the world and they still wouldn’t notice. We’re good.”  
“Fine, I’m coming. Fucking moronic idiots will get us all killed.”  
“Marine Corps does that anyway dawg. See you.”

That’s how the beginning part of the day was spent, convincing current and former members of Bravo to turn up and make Colbert and Person’s fairytale ending a reality (he was careful to call only those who would support them or could be persuaded. He had a lot of respect for these guys, would trust them with his life, but precautions needed to be taken. No one asked about Trombley.)

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“Ok, everybody here?” Poke questioned, surveying the Bravo members surrounding him, crowding the bar and occupying every available space. “If anyone needs to go to the bathroom to take a piss, do it now. I ain’t stopping for you later cause I intend to get shit done and get it done quickly and efficiently.”

“Hurry up and get on with it Espera,” Manimal called from the wall, leaning against it with Chaffin and Garza near him. “I’m just here so Brad doesn’t get us killed on our next tour. My wife agreed to put off the divorce and have a “reacquainting period” and I get to see my kids every day. I don’t want no one to fuck that up for me now.”

“Exactly, Manimal, exactly. This is why we should help Colbert and Person hook up. They’re already as married as anyone else, we all saw that in Iraq. What difference does it make if Brad’s shoving his dick up Person’s asshole or vice versa. It’s not any more gay than Bravo already was and there’s less of a chance that Brad’s going to get one of you blown up while he’s brooding over Person. So I expect each of you to keep your mouths shut about this, and no one but the people in this room need to know what we’re planning. Understood?” Poke looked at all the men, watching them nod their assent, when Nate spoke up.

“Your dedication to Bravo and it’s members is great but do we have an actual plan?” he asked, obviously wanting to rush things along. The Lt and Gunny had somewhere to be later in the day and the faster they got done, the quicker they could leave.

“Yeah, I have a plan. I’m not some fat ass motherfucker sitting on his ass eating potato chips off the couch everyday. What they need is time, time to get their shit sorted and realize they really want to fuck each other. And a road trip is just the thing.” Grinning, he looked into all of their unimpressed faces. “Look, it worked once, it can work again. We all heard them on the comms. They were married as fuck back then. It's the same now.”

“So what do we do? Randomly shove them in a car and tell them bon voyage?” Kocher criticized, voicing what many others were obviously thinking. They might be annoying but these guys were the sharpest in the Marine Corps. If they were going to risk their friend’s career, they were going to make sure it was for a bulletproof, bombproof and fireproof plan.

“Person’s birthday is this month, we can pool together money and choose a destination spot for 2 people. You’d spend money on him anyway, now it's one giant present that ends in a fucking. Happy birthday to him!” The others were coming around to the idea, he could tell. The amount of jokes relating to sexual acts was proof of that, meaning that Bravo was back to normal.

“Do you have a place in mind? Because I'm not sure there's many sites in America Person and Colbert would want to visit,” added Gunny, ever the voice of wisdom.

“Yeah, I got something. And all we have to do is focus on Ray, Brad will follow him there, no matter what he says. It might be a bit expensive, but I guarantee you dawg, it's worth every extra penny.”

With that last bit said, Pike pulled out papers and lists, passing them around for everyone to see. And when they realized the true beauty of what they were planning, every man in that group fell into the planning with gusto. 

If the other patrons had been paying attention, they would have surely looked at the picture they made with fear and apprehension, something akin to what Brad Colbert would do later.

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“We were going to take you to separate bars and get you drunk over the course of the month but this came up and it was a hell of a better idea,” Poke explained, a few of the guys with him in Brad and Ray’s living room. It was a week since that fateful meet up and everything had fallen into place pretty easily.

“Oh guys!” Ray gushed, going to hug Tony, “you shouldn't have. A simple back massage from each of you would have been fine.” 

“Like they’d let their fine hands get anywhere near your body,” Brad scoffed, coming into the room with a coffee. “You might forget it sometimes but the rest of the world tries not to interact with Whiskey Tango inbred hicks from Nevada, Missouri. Bravo is the exception, taking pity on you like the stray animal you were.”

“Speaking of strays, when are we going to meet Princess Sparkle Time and Alexander Maximilian Percival Gilbert the Third? I need to know if they’re as retarded as they look in the greeting cards you handed out,” Walt joked, speaking up for the first time since they entered the house.

“Don’t speak to my children like that you corn fed Virginian!” Ray gasped. “Brad, did you hear that! He insulted your children Brad! Are you going to take that just sitting down?”

“I'm sure Hasser meant nothing by that,” Brad answered smoothly, turning the volume on the tv down. “Your brain plays tricks on you sometimes, you should really knock back on all that bathtub moonshine your mother supplies you with.”

Turning towards Walt, he told him, “You won't be able to meet them today. We just put them down for a nap and they’re a nightmare to get back to sleep once they’re awake. Maybe next time, if you give us a notice that you’re coming, like actual civilized people.”

“Alright, enough small talk dawg,” Poke cut into what what obviously become a long and drawn out argument. “The entirety of Bravo paid for that gift, plus Reporter, but they couldn't make it. We do however, have the modern marvel that is the video camera, so if you could hurry the fuck up and open the package, that would be lovely.”

“All of Bravo? And Rolling Stone?” Ray asked with a raised brow. “Now this I have to see. It's skinny and flat. Can't be a gold plated dildo.”

“I’ll put it down for your Christmas present,” Eric interrupted, “now open it already.”

Tearing off the wrapping paper and opening what seemed to be a folder full of papers, Ray left out a whoop of laughter and went to tackle Poke, Walt, and Kocher in what could very loosely be described as a bear hug.

“ I said it before but thank you so much!” he cried, clinging onto Walt’s waist. “You guys are so good to me. Hell, my mother doesn't even treat me this good. And I can bring the love of my life Bradley with me! Dreams do come true.”

“Where the fuck exactly am I going with your uncultured ass?” Brad asked, looking at the discarded folder. Within seconds and one glance, his face was filled with horror and dread, head shooting up to the group in front of him, almost begging them to tell him it was all a lie or a joke or a prank of some sort.

“Yes, Colbert, you and Person are going on an all expense paid road trip that ends with a 10 day stay at Walt Disney World, 'The Most Magical Place on Earth'!“ Poke confirmed, watching Brad and Ray’s faces with more glee than Brad could stomach. “Pack your bags and do your research, you’re leaving in a few days!”

Still recovering from the shock of this unexpected ‘gift’, Brad could only grasp at weak excuses to avoid the one place on earth that would shatter any manly credibility or warrior spirit he had built up. “Sparky and Alex, they’ve never been separated from us so long. They can’t-”

“Don’t worry Brad,” Poke called out on his way to the door, “I got your back. They can stay with me. Jesse wants pets and it’d be a great trial period. Also, Gunny and the Lt have you covered with Battalion. You’re not needed at base for at least 2 or 3 weeks. Enjoy!” 

“Cheer up Brad! You’re going to the place ‘Where Dreams Come True’!” With his bit said, Walt left, Eric following him after a quick thump on Ray’s back and shaking hands with a still stunned Brad.

Everyone gone, he attempted to process this extremely sharp turn of events, only coming out of his mind when a familiar voice piped up.

“So homes,” he smiled impishly, the ghost of his cheap, Gold Elvis sunglasses suddenly there. “We using your car or mine?” 

Groaning and throwing his head back, Brad could only, once again, wonder how his life came to be like this.

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It was at last decided that, yes, they were going. They’d hate to waste the couple thousand that were obviously spent on this trip and Ray had this annoying habit of wearing him down with unending chatter and nagging.

The plan was to leave bright and early the morning after the surprise and make it to Disney in a little more than 2 days, with a few stops between their destination. The chosen places were the Grand Canyon, The Alamo, and for some reason, Christ of the Ozarks. Ray had made a case for Nashville, TN but Brad had been very firm about that. There was only so much suffering he could take and country music would not be in that list.

When asked about the trip there, Brad could safely say that he couldn’t recall very much. Sure, he remembered bits and pieces. Leaving Oceanside with with a car stocked with sugar (thank god, he wouldn’t have been able to deal with the ripped fuel) and Elvis sunglasses on, the no-country-music rule broken by Ray in the first 5 minutes. The wind blowing in their faces and the Grand Canyon on one side, offering a breathless view without the threat of attack from every side. Ray yelling ‘Remember The Alamo!’ every so often at The Alamo and the old man that kept throwing them dirty looks. Taking pictures at the Christ of the Ozarks so Ray could send them to Trombley, proclaiming he had spent time with his son. 

Brad could only tell about the basic parts of the road trip to Disney because he was too busy maintaining self control over his need to just tell Ray everything. Being within inches of each other for days, once again, reminded Brad of how attracted he was to this cow tipping red necked idiot and every minute there was a test of his patience. He could tell him right now, there wasn’t anyone who might recognize them, and see how that went. There was the possibility that Ray would laugh it off and say he wasn’t ready. In that case, they’d go back to their old dynamic, pretending nothing had ever happened. It could, however, end differently. Ray might actually reciprocate his feelings, the attraction was definitely there. 

The entire trip, Brad struggled with this choice. There was a third one too, not saying anything at all, but that hurt Brad more now than he’d previously thought. 

The fact that Ray slept with him now didn’t exactly help his mind.

It started off innocently enough. They’d arrived at the motel near the border of New Mexico and had settled in for the night when it happened.

“I’m sorry guys. I’m so sorry. I never meant for this to happen, please forgive me. No, Brad, Walt, stay with me. No, guys, don’t leave me. Please, don’t leave me alone.” Thrashing on the bed, Ray’s movements woke up Brad, who was asleep on the other twin bed in the room. 

For a moment, Brad just watched, wondering if he should intervene. Then, sighing, he got up and went to lightly shake Ray out of his sleep.

“Hey, Ray. Wake up, you’re dreaming. It’s not real, ok? All of us are fine,” Brad reassured him, watching as he took in his surroundings and calmed down for a moment.

“I was driving in Iraq and I swerved and that was it,” he said in a broken voice, eyes not meeting Brad’s. “I looked around and your neck was snapped and Walt was on the floor and it was just so real…” He trailed off there, eyes becoming unfocused once again, going back to what he had seen.

And Brad couldn’t take it anymore, the pain in his voice and being unable to help, so he did the stupidest thing he could have done for either of them at that moment. He climbed into his bed, pulled up the sheets, and held onto Ray as they both fell asleep. The next morning, he woke to Ray’s arms around his waist, his drool on his arms and his head on his chest. Both of them got up, didn’t mention what happened and went on with their day, going to The Alamo and The Christ of the Ozarks. Except that it happened again that night. Once again, nightmares arrived and with that, Brad came to Ray immediately.

It was dangerous territory where they were headed, but Brad was finding that he cared less and less. The feel of Ray in his arms, his small breaths, tracing his tattoos, patting his fluffy hair, it was all so exhilarating and wholesome and not at all what Brad likes but exactly what he wants. Compared to the carefully drawn lines he operated on before, this was heaven. And yeah, he should have been thankful that it ended at their hotel at Disney’s Animal Kingdom Lodge (“So much room!” Ray said cheerfully) before it could cause trouble but all he could think of was that Ray wasn’t near him anymore. Not as near as he’d like.

It all came to a head the next day, right in front of Cinderella’s castle in Magic Kingdom of all places. Ray had wanted ice cream from Plaza Ice Cream Parlor at 11 am because of course he did. Eating their cones, they wandered down Main Street, eventually coming to a stop right in front of Cinderella’s castle, with a perfect view of everywhere, when Ray turned around and that was that. On the risk of sounding like a gay ass liberal dick suck from Massachusetts, the way the light hit Ray left him breathless. Eyes laughing, smile lighting up his whole face, free hand flying everywhere, just as animated as the rest of him. But it was the bit of chocolate ice cream at the corner of Ray’s mouth, a surprisingly small amount for such a horrendous eater, that drove Brad past the breaking point. Focusing on that small fleck of food, Brad leaned in and kissed the edge of his mouth, swiftly moving to his lips. 

For a second, Brad went still and Ray went still and Brad started to panic, mind going into overdrive thinking he’d just lost his best friend. But before he could pull back and apologize, Ray was kissing him back, just as intense as Brad had been. Startled for a moment, he decided to kiss him back and deal with whatever came after when the time came.

While it might have felt like eternity in itself, it was most likely 10 seconds at most because they were in Disney World and although it might be the most magical place on earth, there were sure to be some people that would have problems with them if they continued.

Pulling apart, all they could do was stare at each other, people passing all around them, before Ray spoke.

“I know you’re emotionally constipated,” he began, “but I really think we should talk about what just happened.”

“Nothing to talk about,” Brad replied shortly, “it was a spur of the moment decision and I’m really sorry. Now, if we go straight ahead-”

“I don’t know Brad. It didn’t feel like a spur of the moment thing, at least not to me. It felt great though, and I wouldn’t mind continuing it.” As if he remembered something, Ray rushed to add on, “That’s only if you want to, of course. It’s fine if you don’t want to be in a relationship. I can wait, I’ve been doing that for a while now.” Cracking a smile, he said something that made Brad halt. “I’ve been doing that for a while now.”

“Wait, what?” His confusion must have been evident because Ray, the smart inbred hick that he was, elaborated.

“Since Iraq. But it was a crush back then and I was in a relationship. It got really bad when you let me stay at your place.” Grinning, he pushed a hand through his hair. “You shouldn’t have done that, told you that you’d regret it.”

“So what stopped you from making out with me?” Brad asked, trying to figure out how best to explain things to Ray without seeming like a freak. But then again, they were both experts in looking past the freakiness factor.

“When we went to the bar and you panicked after talking to that woman. I figured you still weren’t over your ex-fiancee. Also, there was the question of your sexuality. It’s one thing to be homoerotic as a marine and another to be homoerotic as a regular, day to day person. Why? Regretting all the time you could have been getting this,” he said, making a grand gesture towards himself.

“Because I’ve been wanting you from Iraq too. At first DADT and the marine corps was the problem but then it was the fact that you had just came out out of a relationship.” Shaking his head, Brad tried to wrap his head around what seemed to be happening. “Jesus Christ Ray, are you telling me we could have been in a relationship and having sex if you had just told me all of this in the first place?” He cocked his head, purposely making his words cool and collected.

“Don’t go blaming this on me, Bradley Colbert,” Ray scoffed, easily falling into their usual banter after a much too serious talk. “The blame lies just as much with you as it does with me. Seriously, over a year and you only decide to kiss me now?”

“It didn’t seem likely that there was anyone who would recognize us,” Brad answered with a shrug, “and I got tierd.”

“So does this mean we’re in a relationship?” Ray questioned, something like hope lighting up his eyes.

“I suppose it does,” Brad replied, wishing that he didn’t sound nearly as grateful and relieved as he did.

“Which means I can call you my boyfriend,” Ray added, his gleeful face making Brad realize just what he was committing himself to. 

And it was a pleasant surprise to realize he was ok with that. Looking forward to it, even. “As long as you stop listening to country music.”

“I love you Brad, but that’s not likely to happen. Also, while we’re figuring out our relationship and future and the eternity we’re spending together, there’s still the problem with DADT…” He trailed off, not sure what to say about something that would obviously be a thorn in their side for the distant future.

“Nothing to do about it,” he answered with a shrug. “I’m pretty sure battalion knows we’re living together so if they haven’t said anything by now, they won’t anytime soon. Besides, they’ve got their head too far up their asses to do anything effective, short of installing video cameras to catch us in the act. Considering the fact that they didn't supply us with enough batteries, I think we’re safe.”

“Well, in that case,” Ray said, smile growing bigger by the second, “let’s go find a nice old lady to take a picture of us kissing in front of the castle.” Tugging on Brad’s large hand with surprising strength, he continued. “Our first kiss is in goddamn Disney World and that’s where we confessed our love for each other. Poke’s going to have a field day with this.” Gasping, he turned around and asked, “Do you think they planned this? Those motherfuckers, of course they did! Man, I love those guys! Now we definitely need to take a picture. And make it really dramatic and gay, just pouring on the love.”

“I’m already beginning to regret this,” Brad stated, letting Ray pull him forward and enjoying the feel of their hands linked together. There was something to be said for this casual act, done without the fear and uncertainty of counting down the seconds before you had to let go clouding their happiness. And it would be like that for the foreseeable future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading and please let me know what you think! Ideas? Suggestions? Prompts? I can be reached at my Tumblr @drowninginspace

**Author's Note:**

> So, I wrote this as a prequel to a work of mine, called "Grocery Shopping with Ray: The Trials and Punishment of Brad Colbert". You can 100% read either one without reading the other but this is more to show the story of how their relationship began. The other work is just a small picture of their daily life together. Please, don't hesitate to comment and come talk to me on my Tumblr @drowninginspace ( I won't bite!)


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